Kierkegaard: “Above All, Do Not Lose the Desire to Walk”

The great Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard wrote a letter to his sister-in-law, Sofie Henriette Kierkegaard (Jette), in October 1847. The letter has been preserved and reveals his deep care for her. She had become seriously ill and was bedridden.

Kierkegaard’s advice to her was simple—yet profound:

Walk.

He writes:

“Above all, do not lose the desire to walk. Every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it.
Even if one walked only to preserve one’s health, and this remained always just ahead—still I would say: walk!
For it is evident that by walking one comes as close to well-being as possible, even if one does not fully reach it; whereas by sitting still, one comes closer to discomfort.
The more one sits still, the closer one comes to illness. Only in movement can health and salvation be found.
If someone denies that movement exists, then I do as Diogenes—I walk.
If someone denies that health lies in movement, then I walk away from all sickly objections.
When one keeps on walking, everything will be all right.”
(Kierkegaard, Søren Kierkegaards Skrifter, Vol. 28, pp. 60–61 My translation)

Myself, on my way to Santiago de Compostella. Privat photo.

Walking as Life, Not Trend

In 19th-century Copenhagen, walking had become so popular that authorities had to regulate pedestrian traffic. As early as 1810, the police issued instructions recommending that pedestrians keep to the right side of the street.

Walking had become fashionable.

Kierkegaard, however, took it a step further. For him, walking was not a trend—it was a way of living, even a form of therapy. He claimed that he walked himself into health and into his best thoughts.

Of course, one cannot walk away from every illness. Anyone who has experienced serious disease knows this. Kierkegaard writes as a philosopher, not as a physician.

Yet his insight remains meaningful:

Movement matters.
Even—and perhaps especially—for those who suffer.

Movement, Even in Stillness

There is something striking—perhaps even unsettling—in the fact that Kierkegaard gave this advice to a woman who was severely ill and bedridden for the last twenty years of her life, suffering from paralysis and intense pain caused by kidney stones.

And yet, he encouraged her to move as much as possible.

Health, he believed, exists in movement.

Whether Henriette was able to follow his advice, or whether she experienced it as impossible, we do not know. But we do know that she deeply appreciated her brother-in-law and read his works with great dedication.

And perhaps there is another form of movement here.

Reading, too, is a kind of walking.

Along with the letter, Kierkegaard sent her a copy of his newly published book Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits (1847). I imagine that Henriette undertook many meaningful “journeys” together with him through these texts.

The Pilgrim’s Path

Kierkegaard’s reflections on walking are often echoed by pilgrims.

I think of myself as a pilgrim—someone who walks toward a sacred place. For early Christian pilgrims, such places included Jerusalem, Santiago de Compostela, and Nidaros (Trondheim).

I have had the privilege of walking 800 kilometers myself—from St. Jean Pied de Port in France to Santiago de Compostela. Later this year, I plan to walk from Sandefjord to Trondheim in Norway.

There are, of course, many sacred places. Different religions point in different directions. And today, pilgrims walk for many different reasons.

But for me, Kierkegaard’s reasons resonate deeply:

Movement makes me healthier.
I feel more alive when I walk.
And movement gives rise to good thoughts.

In that sense, the sacred place I walk toward is not only out there—but also within.

Why We Walk

Over the centuries, the meaning of pilgrimage has evolved. The Norwegian author Eivind Luthen (2003) offers a thoughtful summary of why people walk. I have taken the liberty of reshaping his points slightly—in the spirit of Kierkegaard:

We seek silence and peace through movement.
By walking at our own pace, we gradually stop rushing; our stress levels decrease.
It is important to practice being alone—even to experience loneliness—so that attention can turn inward.
Walking requires effort. One chooses to walk, places one foot in front of the other. This effort strengthens both body and soul.
Walking simplifies life. We rediscover three essential elements: movement, rest, and nourishment. We carry only what we need. Many burdens can be left behind. Life becomes simple when we walk.
When walking, we greet others. Even strangers acknowledge one another. A greeting is both a gift given and received—a smile, a moment of shared humanity. Pilgrimage is often called “a journey of love,” and it is freely given.
We may also learn from earlier times. Pilgrimage was once undertaken out of guilt, shame, illness, or a desire for reconciliation. This is still possible. One may walk toward healing—and toward better thoughts.

As Luthen writes: