From a reader:
Dear Fr. Z,
I thought you might appreciate this poem on the Synod on Synodality. It was generated by ChatGPT. Pretty good, eh? All the more impressive is that the GPT-3.5 Large Language Model is only trained on news events through September 2021…meaning the Synod’s agenda was already detectable two years ago, even to an AI chatbot!
It was too good not to share, so feel free to post! Maybe your readers can try to outdo each other in the combox with Synod-inspired poetry of their own (AI-generated or not)…
Also attached is a screenshot.
God bless,
Synod on Synodality: A Poem by ChatGPT
In chambers where agendas play,
A Synod’s dance begins its sway,
A masquerade of “dialogue” they say,
Yet veils are thin, truth’s price to pay.
Synod on synodality, a modern scene,
Where liberal dreams may intervene,
A clever ruse, a cunning scheme,
In name of progress, they convene.
With every vote and subtle nod,
A liberal agenda seeks to prod,
Traditional hearts, they aim to sway,
But through the haze, we see their play.
Oh, Synod’s charade, you’re quite the show,
A liberal fest, with pomp aglow,
They whisper change and “open minds,”
Yet core beliefs, they leave behind.
Synod on synodality, a circus grand,
Where principles shift like shifting sand,
Tradition’s voice they try to drown,
While “tolerance” is their new crown.
But we’re no fools, we see the game,
Behind the curtain, it’s all the same,
A liberal masquerade, oh what a sight,
Where truth and orthodoxy take their flight.
So Synod, dance with your intent,
Your liberal leanings, blatant and bent,
A spectacle of “dialogue” and “new,”
Yet through it all, tradition rings true.
Wow! Even AI can see through it!
The two biggest threats to humanity’s future:
AI and the Synod on Synodality.
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THE
STIMULATING
SYNOD
Synod of Synod
Led by
Cardinals
In red
No longer
His Body
Only crusty
Hard bread
Lead sheep
To a pasture
Where the grass
Is all dead
Forced to lick
Dirt –
And pretend
They’re well fed.
Scripture made silly
Doubt the Crown
Of Thorned –
Head
He drank wine
With sinners
And shared flesh
In their bed
So stimulating their soul,
For the good of the hole,
These Princes in red
Are where Angels fear to tread!
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