Ever walked into a modern bathroom—the kind with the hospital-white tiling and those buzzing, aggressive fluorescent lights—and felt your soul just sort of wither? It’s clinical. It’s "clean." It’s also completely devoid of any mystery or comfort.
That specific feeling of modern discomfort is exactly what Tanizaki Junichiro In Praise of Shadows tackles, even though it was written back in 1933. Honestly, it’s wild how a ninety-year-old essay about Japanese toilets and gold leaf can feel more relevant today than most contemporary design blogs. Tanizaki wasn't just complaining about lightbulbs; he was mourning a specific way of existing in the world.
He argues that beauty isn’t something you find in the object itself. Instead, it’s found in the "patterns of shadows, the light and the darkness, that one thing against another creates." We’ve spent the last century trying to eliminate shadows. We want everything high-definition, 4K, and perfectly lit. But Tanizaki suggests that by doing that, we’re actually losing the very thing that makes life feel, well, human.
The Problem with Being "Too Bright"
We’re obsessed with visibility. In the West—and increasingly in the modernized East—light is synonymous with progress. Dark corners are seen as scary or inefficient. Tanizaki looks at this and basically says we're missing the point.
When you light up every corner of a room, you kill the imagination.
Think about a traditional Japanese room with its heavy eaves and shoji screens. The light doesn't just "enter" the room; it has to fight its way in. It’s filtered. It’s weak. By the time it hits the back wall, it’s a soft, gray glow. In In Praise of Shadows, Tanizaki describes how this dimness allows gold leaf patterns on screens to actually serve a purpose. In a bright room, gold looks gaudy and cheap. In a dark room, it catches the stray flicker of a candle and glows with an inner warmth. It creates depth where there was none.
It’s about the "pina" or the "sheen of antiquity." He talks about how Westerners love things that are shiny and polished—silverware that has to be scrubbed until it’s blinding. In contrast, Japanese aesthetic traditionally prizes the to-ka, or the grime of fingers. Not literal dirt, necessarily, but the patina that comes from age and touch. It’s the difference between a brand-new stainless steel kitchen and a wooden table that’s been used for three generations. One has a history; the other is just a product.
Why the Bathroom Matters So Much to Tanizaki
This is usually where people get a little thrown off. Tanizaki spends a significant chunk of the essay talking about the traditional Japanese toilet.
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Yes, really.
He calls it a place of "spiritual repose." While Western bathrooms are all white tile and chrome—emphasizing a sort of sterile, clinical cleanliness—the traditional Japanese version was often a wooden shack away from the main house. It was surrounded by the smell of damp earth and the sound of rustling leaves.
"The Japanese toilet is truly a place of spiritual repose," he writes. You’re sitting in the dim light, looking out at a garden, and you feel a connection to nature that you simply cannot get in a bathroom that looks like an operating room. It sounds a bit extreme, sure. But if you’ve ever had a moment of quiet reflection in a dim, cozy space, you know exactly what he’s talking about. Our modern obsession with "hygiene" has replaced "atmosphere." We’ve traded peace for bleach.
Shadows and the Human Face
One of the more haunting parts of In Praise of Shadows involves his description of the Noh theater and the way traditional makeup was designed to work with candlelight.
In the old days, women would blacken their teeth (ohaguro) and use heavy white face powder. To a modern eye, it looks bizarre. But Tanizaki explains that in a world without electric light, this was a functional choice. The white powder caught what little light existed. The blackened teeth made the mouth disappear into the shadows of the face, leaving only the eyes and the expression.
He notes:
"Were it not for shadows, there would be no beauty."
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When we apply modern, overhead lighting to these traditional art forms, they look grotesque. They weren't meant to be seen in 5000K "Daylight" LED. They were meant to be seen in the flickering, yellow warmth of a tallow candle. It makes you wonder how much of our own modern "beauty" is just a byproduct of the light we happen to live under. If we lived in shadows, would we value different faces? Different skin?
The Conflict of Progress
Tanizaki wasn't a Luddite. He didn't think we should all throw away our lightbulbs and go back to living in caves. He was actually quite pragmatic. He mentions how difficult it is to heat a traditional house and how much of a pain it is to deal with the inconveniences of old-world living.
His real frustration was with how the "tools" of progress—specifically Western technology—were forced onto a Japanese aesthetic without any adjustment. He wondered what a "Japanese" fountain pen would have looked like, or how Japanese cinema might have developed if the film stock had been designed to capture the nuances of dark skin and dim rooms rather than being calibrated for the high-contrast needs of Western filmmakers.
It’s a critique of globalization before that was even a buzzword. He saw a flattening of the world. He saw everything becoming the same shade of bright, clinical white.
Applying Tanizaki to 2026
So, how do you actually use this? It’s not about living in the dark. It’s about being intentional with how we use light and space in a world that is increasingly digital and "on."
If you look at modern interior design trends—like the "moody maximalism" or "dark academia" aesthetics—you’re seeing a direct, though perhaps subconscious, rebellion against the "In Praise of Shadows" vacuum. People are tired of the "Millennial Gray" era. They want corners. They want mystery.
The Practical Shift
Think about your workspace. Most of us work under harsh overheads or the blue light of a screen. It’s exhausting. Following Tanizaki’s logic, you should probably turn off the "big light."
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Use lamps. Use warm bulbs—something in the 2200K to 2700K range. Let parts of your room be dark. It actually helps you focus. When the light is concentrated on your desk, and the rest of the room fades away, your world becomes smaller and more manageable.
Also, consider your materials.
- Paper vs. Screen: A screen emits light; paper reflects it. There is a "depth" to a physical book that a Kindle can't quite replicate because the shadows on the page change as you move.
- Lacquerware and Wood: Tanizaki loved lacquerware because it has a "liquid" depth in the dark. In your own home, choosing materials that have texture—linen, unpolished stone, matte wood—allows shadows to play across the surface.
- The "Big Light" Rule: Just don't use it. Layer your lighting.
The Mystery of the Unseen
Ultimately, In Praise of Shadows is a plea for the "unseen." In a world where we can Google anything, where satellite maps show us every inch of the planet, and where social media requires us to be "seen" at all times, the shadow is a radical space.
It's the space where we don't have to be perfect.
Tanizaki’s "shadows" are a metaphor for the parts of life that aren't productive, efficient, or bright. They are the quiet moments, the aging objects, and the unexpressed thoughts. There is a certain dignity in the dimness.
When you read the essay, you realize he isn't just talking about architecture. He's talking about a philosophy of life that accepts decay, values subtlety, and finds beauty in the gaps between things. It’s a very "wabi-sabi" approach, but with more emphasis on the literal physics of light.
Actionable Steps for a Shadow-Inspired Life
Stop trying to make your home look like a showroom. Showrooms are designed to be photographed, not lived in. To bring a bit of Tanizaki’s wisdom into your daily routine, start with these shifts:
- Audit Your Lighting: Go through your house at night. Identify every "harsh" light source. Replace bright white bulbs with "warm" or "amber" versions. If a room feels sterile, it’s probably the light, not the furniture.
- Embrace Patina: Don't be so quick to polish or replace things that show wear. That scratch on the wooden table or the fading on a leather chair is what Tanizaki calls "the sheen of antiquity." It’s proof of life.
- Create a Dark Corner: Designate one spot in your home—a chair, a nook, a porch—that is intentionally dim. No screens allowed. Use it for thinking or just sitting.
- Observe the Transitions: Watch how the light changes in your room between 4:00 PM and sunset. Notice how the shapes of your furniture change. Most of us are too busy to notice the "patterns of shadows" Tanizaki raves about.
The goal isn't to live in the past. It’s to make sure that in our rush toward a bright, shiny future, we don't accidentally erase the very shadows that give our lives depth and character. Next time you're in a dimly lit restaurant or a cozy wood-paneled library, don't reach for the light switch. Just sit there. See what the shadows have to tell you.
Next Steps to Explore Japanese Aesthetics:
- Read The Book of Tea by Kakuzo Okakura to understand the philosophy behind the "way of tea" and its focus on simplicity.
- Research the concept of Wabi-Sabi, specifically through the lens of Leonard Koren’s work, to bridge the gap between Tanizaki’s light theory and physical objects.
- Experiment with low-CRI (Color Rendering Index) lighting in a single room to see how it alters your perception of color and texture over a week.