Virtues, Consequences, and Codes
Ethics Without Illusions
Ethics has long been divided into three great traditions: virtue ethics, deontology, and consequentialism. Each claims to explain what it means to live rightly, act well, or be good. Each offers a different answer to the question: What should I do?
But all three traditions rest on a deeper assumption—one they rarely examine: that there is such a thing as moral truth, grounded in something beyond the agent. Whether it’s the nature of flourishing, the binding force of duty, or the weight of consequences, they each appeal to a source of value that is supposed to be real—not just felt.
That assumption doesn’t survive our framework.
We’ve already shown that value is always subjective. It exists only in the minds of agents. If there are no valuers, there is no value. And if value is subjective, morality must be, too. There is no universal vantage from which to compute what’s right. There is no cosmic standard. Only agents, perspectives, and tradeoffs.
So where does that leave the traditions?
Let’s rebuild them—without the illusion of objectivity.
Consequentialism says morality is about outcomes. An action is right if it leads to better results. This sounds simple—until you ask: Better for whom?
Classical consequentialism avoids that question by positing a universal utility function. Maximize happiness. Minimize suffering. Sum across all beings. The math is clean—but the foundation is fiction. There is no god’s-eye vantage. There is no master ledger of pleasure.
If you abandon the pretense of objectivity, consequentialism doesn’t collapse. It refines. It becomes: What outcomes do I value? What consequences matter to me, or to those I care about? It becomes vantage-relative decision theory, not moral calculus.
A consequentialist in our framework is not a utilitarian. They’re an agent modeling outcomes based on their own preferences. That’s not a failure of morality—it’s the only way moral reasoning ever actually works.
Deontology says morality is about rules. You should do the right thing, regardless of the outcome. Be honest. Keep promises. Never use people as means.
Kant tried to ground this in pure reason. But reason doesn’t generate values—it only operates on them. You can’t get from logic to “ought” without smuggling in preference.
That doesn’t make deontology useless. It just makes it voluntary. A code of conduct, like a martial art or a professional oath, can be meaningful and binding—for the agents who choose it. A deontologist in our framework is someone who says: I value this rule. I identify with this code. I live by this constraint.
It’s not universal. It’s aesthetic. And it works.
Virtue ethics says morality is about character. Be the kind of person who lives well. Cultivate courage, wisdom, temperance, and justice. Don’t just follow rules or chase results—be excellent.
This tradition is the most compatible with our framework. It doesn’t pretend that values float free from valuers. It asks what it means to flourish as you. It accepts that goodness is expressed through agency—not imposed from outside.
Yes, Aristotle smuggled in teleology. But strip away the metaphysics, and you’re left with something powerful: a personal style of moral development, rooted in practice, not principle.
A virtue ethicist in our framework is someone who says: I want to become the kind of person who embodies the values I hold.
That’s not just coherent. It’s admirable.
So what survives?
All three traditions survive—but only when stripped of their illusions. None of them can claim universality. But each becomes something more honest:
Consequentialism becomes agent-relative decision theory.
Deontology becomes voluntary codes and chosen constraints.
Virtue ethics becomes moral style—personal expressions of value in action.
What dies is the fantasy that morality lives out there. That it’s written into the fabric of the universe. That we discover it like physicists find laws.
What replaces it is moral agency:
A recognition that every ethical system is a LARP—some better, some worse. Some coherent, some confused. But all constructed. All chosen.
You don’t need to pick one. You can blend them. Reject them. Modify them. What matters is this: you are the source of your values. The rest is just code.