Whither ethics? When one sits down and thinks it through, the logic behind choosing a life of amorality is really very sound, and even more so when one does not believe in the existence of a God. Naturally, this sits uncomfortably with most people, but one needs to examine the case without any priors.

Consider an individual who is choosing a moral code. We consider two cases: (a) That he/she is religious; (b) That he/she is not. In the former, religion---whichever one this may be---would generally be the guiding principle by which he/she chooses a moral code; for example, a Christian would subscribe to a moral philosophy that is consistent with the doctrines of the Bible, that he/she subscribes to (note that there can be variation within this subset, but the central argument that there is a fixed point with respect to morals guarantees the existence of it. Also, note that this argument need not be invalidated by nonconventional religious practices, such as Satanism, since there is an underlying moral code to such believers, too, just that the code is generally in opposition to what we have come to understand as standard "morals").

Hence, we have established that if one is religious, then it would be the case that one subscribes to a moral code. Moreover, since the existence of a God cannot be proven or disproven (although many have tried), we take the probability of this to be one-half. Thus, we should have a moral code half the time (using simple expected utility theory).

Now, consider the latter, namely, an individual that is not religious. In this case, there is no greater, underlying meaning beyond the grave: We live only in this world. I can think of two main (mutually exclusive) subcases: (a) The individual has an existing set of moral codes, established generally by developmental psychology or social conditioning (e.g. a childhood religion, parental guidance, societal pressure); and (b) The individual does not have an existing set of moral codes. In the second, the rational choice then is to choose a life of amorality, since doing so would suggest that one is maximizing the expected utility of action at each period of time (not that this is ex ante expected utility, since the realization of an event may lead to ex post regret over a particular moral action, but this does not change the ex ante decision problem). For the first, the question then boils down to whether the present discounted value of the cost of changing a moral code exceeds the present discounted value of making a transition, and the payoffs that accrue thereafter. While this is an idiosyncratic problem, I would venture that for most individuals, the transition costs would not be so great (especially if we assume an individual some time in the middle of his/her life) that a rational switch should not be undertaken.

A caveat here is that I am not taking preferences as given. In particular, I am assuming that it is possible for an individual to make moral codes a choice variable. While this is debatable, this is precisely the problem of interest when one is going through, as I am, a period of existential angst.

Note also that amorality does not imply immorality. All that is required is that the individual choose a (potentially) immoral action when it best suits the circumstance, and a (potentially) moral one otherwise. The classic example of this would be the choice to tip (or not) when one dines at a highway rest-stop, with the assurance that one would never revisit the place again (thus assuming away the possibility of repeated interaction). With a sense of morality, one may---rationally---choose to leave a tip, since the utility gained from doing so may exceed the utility of the cash saved. However, in the absence of a moral standard, the utility from tipping tends to zero, and one should always not leave a tip. This action is not immoral, merely amoral. If one were at a restaurant where one may potentially return to someday, or if one may meet the person again, then a decision to tip may be favored.

I think, ultimately, I need to resolve this within myself. I am led to recall a scene in Forrest Gump, where Lt Dane is at the top of the mast in a fierce storm, yelling at his predicament and at God. The storm ends, they survive, and in the next scene, he dives off the boat and swims, on his back, into the sunset. Forrest then says something to the effect of "I believe at that point that Lt Dane found his peace with God". Perhaps that is where I need to arrive at. But I am definitely not there yet.