ABSTRACT
The assortment of persons drawn to Kierkegaard’s discourses is no doubt endless – poets, theologians, philosophers, preachers, the imprisoned.1 These brief writings, digestible at a sitting, are meant to cultivate, form, or animate a soul, without regard to their reader’s status, learning, occupation, or wit. Kierkegaard addresses each discourse intimately to one he calls “my reader,” the “special individual” he hopes will listen, read, in special confidence. As in the refrain of a song of unrequited love, he seeks a special intimate who will accept his welcoming address. But who is that “special individual” he calls “my reader”? Perhaps several will understand him. Nonetheless, each is addressed uniquely as “my reader.” The tone confides loss and hope for reconciliation. Can I escape the passing thought that these words are addressed quietly, revealingly, to me? And if I am indeed now privately addressed, how am I to respond? With abstractions, formalities, or scholarly disquisition? Appeals to the heart plead for answers from the heart.
