Ethics as Lightning Rod

While reading business books about AI, I noticed something I could only name after a while. Every chapter has a section on ethics. Every single one. And none of them lead anywhere.

The pattern is always the same. First the excitement: What AI can do in this area. Then the application: How to use it. Then the results: What others have achieved. And then, just before the end, a paragraph with the word “ethical” or “responsible” in it. It names a problem. It urges caution. And then the next chapter starts.

The paragraph changes nothing. It makes no demand that challenges what was described before. It draws no consequence. It says: There is an issue here. And then it leaves it standing.

In electrical engineering, there is a component called a lightning rod. Its function is to discharge voltage before it can cause damage. The ethics sections in business books work the same way. They take the tension that could arise if someone asked “Is this right?” and discharge it. Into a paragraph. Then it’s gone. The next chapter can continue undisturbed.

It’s a ritual. Not an analysis.

You recognize rituals by the fact that they always play out the same way. The ethics sections are interchangeable. You could move the ethics paragraph from the marketing chapter to the HR chapter, and it would still work. The phrasing is generic enough. “It is important to consider ethical aspects.” “Companies should communicate transparently.” “Responsibility ultimately lies with people.” Sentences that are true and say nothing.

I tried to derive a single concrete action from these ethics sections. Something a manager would do differently tomorrow. I found none. Not one. The sections create the feeling that ethics was considered, without anything actually changing.

That’s not an oversight. It’s the function. Business books need ethics sections like food products need expiration dates. Not because the content demands it. But because the format does. A business book without ethics looks reckless. So ethics gets inserted. In the right place. In the right dosage. Enough to mark the claim. Not enough to threaten the argument.

What bothers me is not the superficiality. Superficial ethics discussions are everywhere. What bothers me is the effect. Anyone who reads these sections walks away feeling the ethical question has been dealt with. Done. Checked off. The lightning has been discharged. You can move on.

But the questions are not done. What happens to the employees who are replaced by AI? Not the question of whether they’ll be replaced. But what happens then. Where do they go? Who pays for retraining? Who bears the costs of transition? These questions don’t appear in any ethics section. Because they’re concrete. And concrete questions can’t be discharged in a single paragraph.

What happens to the quality of decisions when the people making them no longer understand the analysis? What happens to trust when customers don’t know whether they’re talking to a person or a machine? What happens to a society in which the ability to distinguish truth from plausibility erodes a little more every day?

These are not questions for a paragraph at the end of a chapter. These are questions that fill entire books. But they don’t fill business books. Because business books want to sell. And questions that no chapter resolves sell poorly.

So the ritual stays. One paragraph per chapter. Enough ethics to soothe the conscience. Not enough to disrupt the business model. The lightning gets discharged. The building stays standing. And nobody asks whether it should have been hit.