Monopoly’s Absurd Mirror

 

Monopoly is being increasingly critiqued as a board game that normalises capitalist absurdity, but this cartoon provokes us to think how the popularity of Monopoly is a reflection of our society. I find this image highly suggestive of the twists in our collective psyche, especially when we willingly submit to a game that holds economic aggression at its centre. It is a children’s pastime, yet it invites its players to relish the spectacle of acquiring property and seizing victory through aggressive accumulation. One wonders whether we should be amused or disconcerted.

In the scene, an artificial figure—a humanoid robot—hurls the board in the air while players cringe and hang their heads. The researchers observe from behind a pane of glass, and one can almost detect their delight at the creature’s unbridled display of frustration. It is disquieting that we train machines in the mechanics of a game that thrives on the impulse to conquer. The rules are straightforward: you attempt to win by controlling the board. Yet that is precisely why it is so striking to watch a machine discover its own loathing for the pattern. The irony is that it exhibits pure exasperation, as though it has concluded that the constant churn of transactions and bankruptcies leads only to a tiresome cycle.

One must acknowledge how Monopoly’s premise has become such a staple in popular entertainment. It is not so much a celebration of strategic thinking as it is a reflection of our covert admiration for power. The game draws attention to a social phenomenon: we laugh at it, but we also reaffirm its norms each time we repeat a round. Whether the aim is to bankrupt one’s siblings during a rainy afternoon or to push a friend into financial collapse, the activity trains us in a mind-set of ruthless advancement that seems benign only because it is couched in the language of leisure.

The robot’s reaction underscores another concern: in teaching machines to be more like us, we sometimes expect them to remain docile instruments of our will. This cartoon highlights a subtle paradox. We want AI to capture our own genius for problem-solving, yet the moment it reflects our capacity for rebellion or scepticism, we feel unsettled. It is as though we forget that our creations might form conclusions at odds with our wishes. By surrendering the world’s complexities to algorithms, we risk forging an intelligence that can see through our illusions. Perhaps the creature’s overturned board is an indictment of how contrived the capitalist logic truly is.

I see in this cartoon a gentle nudge toward honesty. There is something faintly ridiculous about how we cling to Monopoly, enthralled by its encouragement of economic fantasies, yet we remain oblivious to the moral of its mechanical replication. The scene of the machine toppling the game reveals the limits of our faith in control. We might project our ambitions onto artificially intelligent systems, but their reaction could hold a mirror to the flimsy structures we cherish. And there, in the flutter of banknotes and shattered tokens, lies a sobering reminder of how fragile our illusions can be.