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My grandchildren love playing Monopoly. The board game has become a great way for me to interact with them, and also a great way for them to see capitalism in all its imperfect glory. The problem: One of the cards a player may draw when landing on Community Chest is “Bank Error in Your Favor. Collect $200.” Right when we first started playing the game together, I removed that card from the set. I did so because it taught the wrong lesson. The proper thing to do when there is a bank error in your favor is to report it and return the money.
My grandchildren have discovered the deletion and believe I am silly and old-fashioned. After all, it’s just a game, they say. I stand by my belief that the card should not be in the game; we learn all kinds of lessons from gameplay, and ethical decision-making should not be dismissed so easily. How tightly should play reinforce ethical behavior? Is a game a place where you can and should live in a different ethical world? — Victor Poleshuck
From the Ethicist:
I wonder whether your moral focus here is a tad narrow. We’re talking about a board game called Monopoly. Players succeed by dominating market segments and extracting ruinous rents — after they build on Boardwalk without so much as a wetland permit, let alone an environmental-impact review. It’s a world where incarceration is utterly normalized and rapacity is rewarded. And what troubles your conscience is the prospect that the bank gets shortchanged?
That’s not to single out this particular board game. In chess, white enjoys the inherent advantage of moving first, while knights refuse to go straight — so much to unpack. Battleship encourages the sinking of ships without the slightest effort at diplomacy. Risk is basically a primer on imperialism, urging players to conquer continents and subjugate foes. Clue trivializes violent homicide. Sorry sanitizes revenge, and — well, you could go on.
But what’s the point? All this board-game barbarity leaves our souls unscorched. Games indeed exist within their own imaginative space, where competitors engage in chilly strategy and conflict without carrying its lessons into real-life morality. Removing this random cash-injection card will only make it a bit harder for trailing players to catch up. So put it back. You can even use it as a moment for conversation, and ask your young reprobates what they’d actually do in that situation. Just don’t lose sight of the bigger picture here. If your grandkids are still willing to play with a sermonizing card snatcher, they must really love you. Roll the dice, but I’d say you’ve already won.
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My grandchildren have discovered the deletion and believe I am silly and old-fashioned. After all, it’s just a game, they say. I stand by my belief that the card should not be in the game; we learn all kinds of lessons from gameplay, and ethical decision-making should not be dismissed so easily. How tightly should play reinforce ethical behavior? Is a game a place where you can and should live in a different ethical world? — Victor Poleshuck
From the Ethicist:
I wonder whether your moral focus here is a tad narrow. We’re talking about a board game called Monopoly. Players succeed by dominating market segments and extracting ruinous rents — after they build on Boardwalk without so much as a wetland permit, let alone an environmental-impact review. It’s a world where incarceration is utterly normalized and rapacity is rewarded. And what troubles your conscience is the prospect that the bank gets shortchanged?
That’s not to single out this particular board game. In chess, white enjoys the inherent advantage of moving first, while knights refuse to go straight — so much to unpack. Battleship encourages the sinking of ships without the slightest effort at diplomacy. Risk is basically a primer on imperialism, urging players to conquer continents and subjugate foes. Clue trivializes violent homicide. Sorry sanitizes revenge, and — well, you could go on.
But what’s the point? All this board-game barbarity leaves our souls unscorched. Games indeed exist within their own imaginative space, where competitors engage in chilly strategy and conflict without carrying its lessons into real-life morality. Removing this random cash-injection card will only make it a bit harder for trailing players to catch up. So put it back. You can even use it as a moment for conversation, and ask your young reprobates what they’d actually do in that situation. Just don’t lose sight of the bigger picture here. If your grandkids are still willing to play with a sermonizing card snatcher, they must really love you. Roll the dice, but I’d say you’ve already won.
Link