Ancestor Worship: An Innate Exchange Carved into the Bones | Commander’s Perspective

I have lived most of my life, seen through the complexities of human relationships, and understood that all seemingly tender connections are rooted in the underlying logic of reciprocal exchange. Qingming ancestor worship is no exception. People always love to adorn the scene with phrases like “respecting the ancestors and remembering the past,” turning rituals into sacred cultural ceremonies passed down through generations. But peel away the layers of pretense, and it’s fundamentally a silent, mutually understood, and unsurprising transaction—nothing sacred about it, only raw human nature and sharp wit.

The first layer of exchange is using ritual significance to trade for moral shackles, anchoring family rules and social reputation.

What’s the point of ancestor worship and seeking roots, or maintaining kinship? It’s just pompous rhetoric. A group of relatives set aside trivial matters, drive long distances, prepare offerings, burn incense, kneel and bow—each step meticulous, almost deliberate. We invest time and effort, perform superficial respect. But what do we get in return? An internal family identity bond, a disciplined order of elders and juniors, a moral label of “filial piety” and “knowing the rules” in the eyes of others, and an invisible shackle that traps ourselves and binds future generations.

This transaction has always been fair: performing the ritual means accepting the family’s responsibilities, adhering to societal rules, and not crossing boundaries; participating in the collective ceremony allows integration into the clan circle, avoiding accusations of “forgetting roots” or “being unfilial,” and maintaining dignity. In essence, this ritual is a token of allegiance—using superficial piety to secure moral standing, binding everyone’s words and actions with seemingly profound kinship. No one is an innocent contributor; everyone calculates precisely, using minimal ritual costs to gain maximum social recognition and family belonging. It’s a survival wisdom ingrained in our bones, the coldest form of human exchange.

The second layer of exchange involves using thin paper money to trade for boundless greed, carrying obsession and praying for excessive returns.

What’s burned at the grave isn’t really paper money; it’s human greed and laziness that can’t be hidden. Spending a few yuan on ghost money and incense, mumbling before a mound of earth or a tombstone—praying for wealth, career success, family safety, or disaster avoidance—what’s exchanged is trivial money, but what’s sought is supernatural protection that crosses the boundary between life and death. This isn’t remembrance; it’s a high-stakes gamble, a foolproof spiritual business.

Some say it’s about expressing longing or laying to rest regrets, but it’s just self-deception. Failing to fulfill filial duties in life can’t be compensated by devout kneeling after death; guilt in the heart can’t be alleviated by burning more paper. The so-called solace is merely an outlet for guilt, using cheap rituals to find a moment of peace within. The so-called blessing is an extreme reliance—relying on ancestors and spirits, but never on oneself. Those who believe in weak cultural superstitions always hope for effortless gains, expecting divine protection, treating ancestors as free wish-granting pools, spending a little to gain lifelong smooth sailing. This deal is clever but laughable.

In “Tian Dao,” it’s said that gods are the Way, and the Way follows nature, thus Buddha. All things in the world follow laws; there’s no divine protection or luck that appears out of nowhere. All prayers are self-comfort; all rituals are exchanges of value.

Seeing through the essence of ancestor worship isn’t coldness but clarity. There’s no need to elevate this transaction to a divine level, nor to bind oneself with morality. True remembrance isn’t about three kowtows and nine bows at the grave, nor about burning endless paper money. It’s about remembering the integrity of ancestors, maintaining one’s bottom line, living freely with one’s own hands, and supporting life with one’s ability.

Stop packaging transactions with sentimentality. Stop deceiving yourself with obsession. All relationships in this world—including life and death, and ancestor worship—are ultimately precise exchanges of value. The enlightened never ask for anything from the deceased, nor do they let rituals bind their hearts. They keep their minds at peace, live in the present—this is the best comfort for ancestors and the most profound understanding of life.