For some reason, I've recently been fielding questions from friends and family about my religion.

Some seem to think adopting one is mandatory. Half assume I'm Christian; the other half genuinely can't place it.

I don't mind the questions; I've always been hard to read. Perhaps some want to know what's safe to say or not say. Telling people you're Buddhist instantly provides information about your likes and dislikes.

I also understand if some assume that above a certain age, people tend to adopt a religion, like essential medicine for the spirit.

My answer has always been a simple "no, I have no religion." Typically, the topic ends there. I feel a tiny bit sorry for not offering a shortcut to revealing my spiritual beliefs in a neat little package.

I could launch into a TED Talk about my thoughts on religion, but I never do. I imagine it'd be hugely annoying in a casual conversation.

So, for the record, I'll describe my theological framework (as of right now, reserving the right to change my mind). To do that, I'll start with a story.

It was 2,500 years ago. A father was trying to impart wisdom to his young son, saying: "A man is only as good as his words."

Those simple words encapsulated the idea that keeping promises leads to societal respect, which in turn leads to success among people.

But the son often forgot this advice and made the mistake of breaking promises, landing him in trouble.

What was the father to do? He could repeat the saying every dinner, but that's not feasible. He's often away, and nagging would backfire.

He could put up a banner with those words at home, but nobody nearby could read or write.

The father needed a symbol, something that embodied his values. Anyone who looked at it would instantly get the message.

Tragically and pragmatically, his options were confined to what his son already knew. Anything outside that wouldn't work as a symbol. Having never been to school, the available symbols were severely limited.

Well, there was something. The son had heard stories, from family, friends, the neighborhood bard. There was a well-respected tough guy who always kept his word. He was said to have a distinctive look and always carried a sword.

The father made a clay figure of this swordsman and placed it at the center of his home. This worked for a while. The son saw it every day and was reminded of his father's words about promises.

But it didn't take long before the son became immune to the figure, seeing it as just another decoration.

The father had to go a step further. He said: "Son, you need a ritual. From now on, you pray to this swordsman once a day."

The son resisted, demanding a reason. The father instinctively knew it was the right thing, but lacked the ability to explain it convincingly. So, he resorted to blunt incentive: "Pray to the swordsman, he's going to protect you."

Out of self-interest, the son obeyed and prayed every day. A religion was born.

Fast forward 20 years. The son is now a father. Because of his rituals and practices, he has done well for himself (knowingly or not).

He told the story of the swordsman to his own son and instructed him to pray every day, except this time the rituals were even more intense, involving burning sticks and weekly storytelling sessions among family and friends.

The family now no longer remembered "a man is only as good as his words," at least not explicitly. What they remembered was the daily prayers and the story of the swordsman. The virtue of keeping promises was now embedded within, rarely brought to the fore.

Neither he, his sons, nor subsequent generations remembered why they prayed to the swordsman. They just did it because they were told to out of self-interest.

Those who didn't pray to the swordsman weren't good at keeping their promises and were sidelined by society. In the long run, it appeared as if the swordsman had blessed his worshippers.

From then on, people largely believed that the invisible spirit of the swordsman was always around, working in mysterious ways. The swordsman exists only if you have faith in him.

OK, you've gotten this far, that's impressive. Might as well keep going. Explanations to follow.

All religions started as philosophies, a simple collection of you-shoulds; a list of life hacks.

Many people made such lists; most weren't disseminated across generations. There were no phones to scroll them with. Making sense of them was difficult for the illiterate, which was most people.

The ones that did disseminate employed symbols like the swordsman. Given that a person had heard the story, characters-symbols like that were conceptual zip files to deliver many ideas without literacy.

Today, Superman is no less effective or real than Vishnu as a value delivery mechanism.

The core of a religion is a collection of philosophies; the surroundings are supporting materials made of rituals and superstitions: Sunday masses, joss sticks and food tributes, prayers before slaughter, etc.

Disciples practice rituals because that's how it's always been done. Not many ask why, and those who do rarely get good answers. Eventually, the founding knowledge is lost, and the religion is left only with the surrounding materials (rituals & superstitions) without the core philosophies.

When people mistake practicing the ritual as the religion itself, they confuse the map for the territory. They think paying tributes to a specific deity will bless them with a clear set of benefits, because the experts told them so. That way, they get by without knowing the deity's story.

If the core of religions are philosophies, then there's no reason I should stick to just one. I could pick the good bits from every major religion (and minor ones) and compile them into something unique. If anything, that's what Jeet Kune Do has taught me.

I could do this without following pre-designed rituals, like joss sticks for deity figures at home. I design my rituals & practices based on the philosophies I adopt. Examples might be butter coffee in the morning to burn fat for energy; dubstep on loop while I code to stay in flow; Getting Things Done system setup so I'll eventually be free to do whatever I want.

At no point do I mistake these practices as the religion, but I'll take it if you consider them religious.

Given that some philosophies became religions, getting more widespread because of their superior use of symbols, it doesn't follow that they're truer than philosophies that aren't mainstream. This speaks to two things:

One, look outside the mainstream for philosophies. Therefore, when I jump straight to studying philosophies, I don't feel the need to declare myself as belonging to any given religion. You could say I aspire to be water: when poured into a cup, I become the cup.

Secondly, nothing is more successful than conventional religions in preserving institutional knowledge across centuries. Non-mainstream philosophies, even if superior in truthfulness, can't compete in meme fitness to have themselves passed on as symbols.

Overall, you might see traces of Daoism (supplemented with Bruce Lee), Vervaeke, and Pageau in my lines of thinking.

OK dude so... what do you believe in?

Usually, that question means what supernatural beings I think exist. It rarely means believing in abstract concepts like honor and compassion.

In which case, I believe nothing. I believe in things I can see, and that's not believing, by definition.

I imagine that's a rather sad statement to some who know faith very well. Sometimes I wish I could develop a sense of faith in something. Dao is about the closest thing I have, but it's not the same as a faith that's almost tangible.

Perhaps it's up to faith to choose me in the future, not up to me to will it into place.