In the July 11 & 18 edition of the New Yorker (sorry no web link available) there is a profile of a couple of high flying, rich, socially connected, cosmopolitan real estate developers in Beijing (Jianying Zha, "Letter from Beijing: The Turtles").  They are a married couple, Chinese, taking advantage of the wide open, speculative boom-town atmosphere of China’s burgeoning capitalism.  In the second sentence, the husband, Pan Shiyi is described as a "believer in Taoism."  Toward the end of the piece, we learn that their children, two boys, are named Rang and Shao – "Concession" and "Less," respectively.  (Rang might also be translated as "Yield").  These names, the husband’s idea, reflect Taoist virtues.

     The story raises a larger unexamined question: beyond a vague statement of belief and the names of one’s children, what does it mean to be a Taoist in contemporary urban China, or modern America for that matter?  Is it possible to be a Donald Trump-like tycoon and a Taoist at the same time?

     At first blush, it would seem that Taoism is incompatible with capitalist success.  The "do nothing" dictum – reflecting the Taoist belief that human action cannot fundamentally shape the world at large – would not appear  to be a recipe for riches in a highly competitive, global economy.  Disengagement might be more in keeping with Taoist sensibilities – something like modern-day hermits retreating from the self-interest and consumption and speed of world markets.

     But Taoism, in an abstractly pure form, has always been demanding.  It has long appealed to people who are fully engaged in their societies and economies; very few have ever gone to the extreme of exile in search of fuller Taoist wisdom.   Almost everyone who has ever been interested in Taoism has come up short of the ascetic ideal of the isolate.

     So, the question is not whether Pan Shiyi lives up to some unattainable Taoist archetype but, rather, whether his modern behavior is reasonably informed and determined by some sort of Taoist principles?

     Of course, we cannot say too much about the man – we only know him from a magazine profile.  But the story suggests that he is not really a Taoist.  He may be attracted some some Taoist ideas, but he cannot "be" a Taoist in his current circumstances. 

     For example, one of my favorite Tao Te Ching passages is this:

In yielding there is completion.
In bent is straight.
In hollow is full.
In exhaustion is renewal.
In little is contentment.
In much is confusion.   (22)

     As a guide to behavior this would suggest that one should not always press for one’s personal preference, but to give way to others or to the circumstances – in yielding is completion.  This is not what Pan has done over the years to become a successful real estate developer.  Quite the contrary, he has had to push and fight and press for his own advantage.  Even in his marriage, the article suggests, he has stubbornly stood his ground against his wife’s suggestions (she is also a shrewd business person), to the point of near divorce.  This doesn’t strike me as all that Taoist.

     Now, to be fair, Pan may be like the generations of active and engaged people who have been attracted by Taoism.  The philosophy is something that rings true and tells them something important, but it is not something they can act upon.  Not, at least, until they retire.  How many Chinese bureaucrats through history became more Taoist in their later years?

     There is another way in which Pan may be Taoist, however.  Since Taoism holds that humans cannot control Way – the unfolding of reality – it would counsel that, when things go wrong, we should not really fight back or blame ourselves or somebody else, but just chalk it up to fate and fortune and get on with life.  The real test for Pan, then, is: what would he do if his real estate empire fell apart tomorrow?  Would he react the way Chuang Tzu’s character, Adept Cart, reacts when he is faced with physical decline and death:

"…Why should I resent it?"  replied Adept Cart.  "If my left arm’s transformed into a rooster, I’ll just go looking for night’s end.  If my right arm’s transformed into a crossbow, I’ll just go looking for owls to roast.  And if my butt’s transformed into a pair of wheels and my spirit’s transformed into a horse, I’ll just ride away! I’d never need a cart again!" (Hinton, 92).