Memorial Day 2026: The Fallen Soldiers Will Return Through Reincarnation.

While the Daoist concept of “circulation” and the Buddhist concept of “reincarnation” both appear to point toward a cyclical process of “returning to the beginning,” a closer examination reveals them to be two fundamentally distinct views of life and the cosmos—views that harbor Eastern philosophy’s most profound reflections on the nature of “change” and “continuity.” Daoist “circulation” serves as the underlying fabric of cosmic law; it resembles, more than anything, a “selfless, natural rhythm.” As the Tao Te Ching states, “Reversal is the movement of the Dao”: when all things reach their zenith, they inevitably return to their source. The cycle of the seasons, the waxing and waning of vegetation, the alternation of day and night, and even the passage from life to death—all are manifestations of the Dao’s circulation. This circulation is not directed at any single, specific life form, but rather constitutes the very “breathing” of the entire universe. Humans emerge from “Non-being” (the Dao), live as “Being” (individual entities), and ultimately return to “Non-being” (death, or a return to nature)—much like a single drop of water merging into a river or ocean, dissolving its individual form yet integrating into a far grander cycle. It posits no “moral retribution” for good or evil, nor does it entail “painful attachment”; it is simply a pure “natural law.” Just as the falling leaves of autumn are not a “punishment” but a prerequisite for the new life of spring, this circulation embodies an all-encompassing spirit of “ceaseless vitality.” Buddhist “reincarnation,” conversely, describes the “burdened wandering” of individual life forms trapped within a veil of delusion—a process imbued with intense “moral causality” and a distinct orientation toward “liberation.” It revolves around the axis of karma: sentient beings, driven by greed, anger, and ignorance, create karmic imprints; bound by these karmic forces, they are compelled to undergo repeated rebirths across the Six Realms of Existence—gods, humans, asuras, animals, hungry ghosts, and hell-beings—unable to find release. This form of reincarnation is not a “natural cycle,” but rather a “perpetuation of suffering.” It is akin to a person endlessly chasing phantoms within a dream, only to realize upon waking that these visions were mere illusions; the essence of reincarnation lies in the fact that avidya (ignorance or delusion) has yet to be dispelled. In the Buddhist view, the ultimate objective of understanding reincarnation is not to “accept the cycle,” but to “transcend it”: by cultivating the mind and severing karmic ties—thereby realizing the “empty nature of all phenomena”—one may ultimately attain Nirvana and be liberated forever from the suffering of the cycle of rebirth. Simply put, the Daoist cycle is a “cosmic symphony,” wherein all things serve as notes within the movement—rising and falling with the rhythm, ultimately merging back into the collective harmony. Buddhist reincarnation, conversely, is an “individual delusion”—sentient beings experience the joys and sorrows of separation and reunion within this dreamlike state, realizing the illusory nature of the dream only upon awakening. Yet, at a deeper level, the two philosophies share a profound resonance: both reject the notion of “linear annihilation.” Daoism asserts, “He who dies but does not perish enjoys true longevity” (signifying that the spirit endures alongside the Dao); Buddhism declares, “All sentient beings possess Buddha-nature” (implying an innate potential for enlightenment). Both convey the same message: the meaning of life lies not in a “one-time extinction,” but in “continuity amidst change.” This quest for “eternity”—one path pointing toward a “Greater Self” unified with Nature, the other toward a “True Self” transcending delusion—has collectively nurtured the Chinese people’s open-minded attitude toward life and death. They simultaneously embrace the belief that “the Way of Heaven moves in cycles, and retribution is unerring” (integrating Buddhist concepts of cause and effect into folk consciousness) and the wisdom to “align with Nature and accept one’s lot with equanimity” (upholding Daoist insight). Within the dynamic tension between the “cosmic cycle” and “individual reincarnation,” they have discovered the spiritual anchor that enables them to face the impermanence of existence

Within the profound cosmos of Daoist philosophy, “causal cycles”—or yin-guo lunhui—do not signify the reincarnation of individual souls in the Buddhist sense; rather, they represent the natural rhythm of the Dao in motion. Like the changing of the seasons, these cycles recur endlessly; yet, like the surging flow of a river, they are irreversible. Governed by the principle that “Heaven’s net is vast—its mesh is coarse, yet it lets nothing slip through,” all things in the universe circulate within this intricate web of cause and effect. This cyclical nature is not a fetter of fatalism, but rather the wisdom by which the cosmos maintains its equilibrium—nature’s most profound revelation regarding the nature of life. Daoism posits that “the Dao gives birth to the One; the One gives birth to the Two; the Two gives birth to the Three; and the Three gives birth to the Ten Thousand Things.” The very genesis of the universe is, in itself, the unfolding of a chain of cause and effect. From the formless to the formed, from chaos to order, every stage of evolution serves as the effect of a preceding cause and, simultaneously, the cause of a subsequent effect. As Zhuangzi observed: “He who brings harm upon others shall inevitably have that harm returned upon him.” Acts that inflict injury upon others will ultimately rebound upon the perpetrator—not as a mystical curse, but as a natural law akin to the conservation of energy. From the Daoist perspective, cause and effect represent the manifestation of the Dao within the phenomenal world—the inevitable outcome of the mutual interdependence and interaction of all things. Heaven and Earth act without partiality or intent; the karmic consequences—whether good or ill—arise solely from the actions themselves. Much like a farmer sowing seeds—planting in spring to harvest in autumn, reaping melons where melons were sown and beans where beans were sown—the inevitability of cause and effect transcends the realm of human emotion and volition. The sheer objectivity of this natural law establishes the cycle of cause and effect as the most impartial arbiter in the universe. In contrast to the Buddhist concept of individual reincarnation, Daoism introduces the concept of Chengfu (Inheritance and Repercussion), positing that karmic consequences do not merely impact the individual but continue to reverberate through the family lineage. The Taiping Jing (Scripture of Great Peace) declares: “A family that accumulates good deeds shall surely enjoy an abundance of blessings; a family that accumulates evil deeds shall surely suffer an abundance of misfortune.” The virtuous or wicked deeds of one’s ancestors ripple outward, inevitably affecting their descendants. This collective perspective on cause and effect situates the individual’s destiny within a broader web of life, emphasizing the responsibility that human actions bear toward the collective whole. In contemporary society, this concept retains profound relevance. Indeed, the ethical character and values ​​passed down through a family lineage often serve to determine the developmental trajectory of future generations. Much like the story of Lord Mengchang and Feng Xuan, Feng Xuan’s acts of benevolence sowed the seeds of “righteousness” for Lord Mengchang—seeds that ultimately bore fruit during a moment of crisis, manifesting as the unwavering support of the common people. This continuity of cause and effect serves as a reminder that every choice we make concerns not only ourselves but may also lay the groundwork for the destiny of our entire lineage. While Taoism acknowledges the inevitability of cause and effect, it places greater emphasis on transcending its constraints through spiritual cultivation. Laozi’s advocacy of “governing through non-action” (wuwei) does not imply passive waiting; rather, it signifies acting in harmony with the laws of nature, free from deliberate contrivance. Zhuangzi’s state of “sitting and forgetting” (zuowang) represents a realm attained through the purification of the mind—a state in which the distinction between the self and the external world dissolves—thereby allowing one to transcend the cycle of cause and effect. Within the wisdom of Taoism, the cycle of cause and effect is not a terrifying, inescapable fate, but rather a staircase for spiritual growth. As the Tao Te Ching states: “He who aligns himself with the Tao becomes one with the Tao; he who aligns himself with Virtue becomes one with Virtue; he who aligns himself with loss becomes one with loss.” When we take the Tao as our guide and benevolence as our vessel, we can navigate the long river of cause and effect with ease, ultimately arriving at the state of “unity between Heaven and Man.” This profound insight into the nature of cause and effect serves as a revelation of the very essence of life, and, more importantly, as an expression of ultimate care for the human spirit.