It's November 1781, and in a little town in the Uckermark region of the Kingdom of Prussia, there's a 47-year-old woman. She's dying. For the past 20 years since her late twenties, she's been diagnosed as mentally ill. Her neighbors have regarded her insane, a madwoman. No one who knew her could doubt there was something deeply wrong. You couldn't get a coherent word or thought from her. But this past month, the month leading up to her death, had been different. She'd seemed to wake up, to clear up, to return to her senses. Suddenly her mind was functioning healthily again – and not just barely, but resplendently. People from all over town rushed to visit her sickbed. In those final weeks, she was as well-spoken as a poet, as insightful as a philosopher, better than if she'd spent these last twenty years at the finest schools rather than in cognitive chaos. It astonished all who visited her – she was simply unrecognizable as the same woman they'd seen over and over for decades. Rejoicing in the will of God, she spent her final weeks in her right mind, then died a good and godly demise.1
Nearly five years go by. It's 1786, and at Bethlem Royal Hospital in London, England, a patient there, too, is on his last day. He's forty years old, and up until twelve years ago, he was a lieutenant in the British Royal Navy. But in the year before war had broken out against those ungrateful colonists across the sea, something happened to him. He went mad, they said – that's how one ended up in Bedlam. He lost his memory, to the point where he struggled to get his own name right when asked. His personality changed drastically: once the kind of man who thrived in military order, now he was constantly angry, raging, violent. So it went for these many years of his commitment at Bedlam. After his death, an autopsy would find incredible excesses of discolored fluid in his brain, with the brain tissue unusually firm and certain nerves looking abnormally stringy. But the day before he died, after several weeks of exhaustion, a calm came over him. He stopped his nonstop swearing, and began to think clearly. He begged that a minister should come to see him, to pray with him. He told the minister how he hoped God might see fit to have mercy on him in the last hour. Then, only then, did the lieutenant die.2
Both patients underwent a strange phenomenon known today as 'paradoxical lucidity' or 'terminal lucidity' – the rare occasion where, shortly before death, a patient with severe brain damage will suddenly reassert abilities that just shouldn't be physically possible for their brains to muster anymore. With centuries of case reports to go on, scientists still don't quite know how it happens. A few have ventured physical theories.3 But some wonder if perhaps it's evidence that there's more than the physical brain at play.4
A Scottish surgeon who studied the lieutenant's case file from Bedlam was convinced there was more indeed. He was sure that “reason and the testimony of God declare that in man, there is an immaterial substance which has a share in perception, thinking, and reasoning, etc. – a mind united with the brain,” and that “brain and soul... are joint agents in this world.”5 He was sure, too, that “the brain is... the corporeal organ whose health and entire structure are necessarily connected with all intellectual powers, all internal senses, and all the passions,” and that even “memory depends on the brain.”6 But in connecting these two points, he confessed that when it came to the relationship of brain and soul, “it is unknown how they are joined to us.”7
As for that woman in Uckermark, her case was written up a couple decades later by a German doctor, a bit of an eccentric, who said he knew of many similar cases, among patients not only with mental illness but with dementia, of paradoxical lucidity restoring forgotten memories and faculties for a time.8 He understood cases in terms of a mortal combat being waged between two sides of the human self: 'the inner man' and 'the outer man.' “The fresher and more vigorously the outer man vegetates, the more powerless the inner man becomes...; the more vigorously the inner man revives, the more the outer man must die off,” he remarked.9
And all of a sudden, that old German doctor sounds an awful lot like a much older apostle – though maybe not with the same meaning to their words. For Paul, likewise, sees two parts or aspects of us at work in life – and he also can call them 'the inner man' and 'the outer man.' “Though our outer man is wasting away,” he writes, “our inner man is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). This 'outer man' relates to “the things that are seen,” while the 'inner man' relates to “the things that are unseen” (2 Corinthians 4:18). But how?
What the Church has long taught is that you are not just a body, as the materialists of the world today will often argue. You are more than a body, you are more than a brain. But neither is your body just a tool you use, like a car you drive around the world but one day hope to sell off when it's at last totaled. You are a composite being: you are a body-and-soul. “A human is something composed of a soul and a body.”10 It takes both your body and your soul to fully make you, a single substance. Each relies on the other in this life, and human nature is itself incomplete wherever either the fullness of human soul or the human body is lacking.11
Now, your body – that seems understandable enough. Your body is material. A doctor can measure your body, weigh your body, run tests on your body, gauge your body's functioning. Your body is a physical object within the observable universe. When it has no soul, a body is called a corpse. As James says: “The body apart from the spirit is dead” (James 2:26). And your soul – that's harder for people these days to really understand. Your soul is the active principle that causes your body to cohere as a single organism, and which gives your body life, and which is the principle of all its powers. It's the body's substantial form, the defining entity that makes the body be what it is; and the soul is subsistent, able to endure the body's demise.12 But your soul is not material. We can't measure it, weigh it, run tests on it. Your soul is not a physical object within the observable universe. When it has no body, a soul is separated. That's the condition in which we can expect it to go to heaven (or, you know, elsewhere...) – but about it then, we probably know less than we tend to imagine.
Now, your 'outer man' obviously includes your body. So your body can waste away. And we all know that it's possible for your body to get sick with a bacterial infection or a virus, or go haywire in a cancer, or be hurt from sustaining trauma, or wear down with old age. Our bodies are awfully fragile – that's why Job speaks of us as living “in houses of clay whose foundation is in the dust, who are crushed like the moth” (Job 4:19). It's why Paul speaks similarly of our bodies as “jars of clay” (2 Corinthians 4:7), and why he says that “the tent that is our earthly home” can readily be “destroyed” (2 Corinthians 5:1).
So far, we follow. But a long line of solid Christian thinkers through the ages have added that your 'outer man' also includes those powers of the soul with which the bodily organs (like the brain) cooperate to function mentally in the world.13 The 'outer man' isn't just responsible for outward senses like seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling; it's also where more inward acts like imagining, estimating, remembering, feeling emotion, and being motivated happen.14 At least in the present life, the intellect – the soul – acts in these ways through the brain and the other organs of the body.15
We can see the body – whether the skin is lush and healthy or pale and discolored. We can count to make sure the outer parts are all there. We can look for bruises, burns, cuts, and scars, or verify their absence. Such things can be seen. With an X-ray, we can get images of the body's bones, to find whether they're intact or broken. With a CT scan, we can get images of the body's organs like heart or lungs as they work. Such things can also be seen. With an fMRI, we can watch changes of blood flow to the brain. With a PET scan tracking chemicals we inject into the bloodstream, we can monitor oxygen and glucose metabolism in the brain. While it doesn't let us zero in on individual memories or emotions, these are the next closest thing. Such things can be seen. And Paul reminds us: “the things that are seen are transient,” temporary, just passing by (2 Corinthians 4:18).
So what's left? What is there that doesn't have to waste away? That's the 'inner man.' And it's a part of you above even what we call the mind. It's your soul, specifically with its powers that don't rely on the cooperation of the body. It's been described as “the intellective part of man.”16 This part of you can't be seen, can't be scanned, can't get hooked up to a monitor. And this is something in you that won't break down into parts, won't lose its identity, won't waste away. “The things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal” (2 Corinthians 4:18)
Paul distinguishes between acting “with my mind” versus acting “with my spirit” (1 Corinthians 14:15). Your spirit can act in certain ways, he says, even when your “mind is unfruitful” (1 Corinthians 14:14). Commenting on those words, one doctor admits that “the relationship between mind and spirit is fascinating yet poorly understood.”17 There are some things that the soul or spirit can do that, in the end, don't rely on the body's help, things for which the soul alone isn't just the principle but the subject, like universal reason and the will.18 Even a form of memory, distinct from the memories of sensory particulars, is found there.19 That's why, as one neurosurgeon writes from his own experience, “our higher brain functions defy precise mapping onto brain tissue, because they are not generated by tissue,” for there are “both material and immaterial powers of mind.”20
But then there are many things the soul, existing in the matter of your body, does only with the help of the body and its powers. The soul's higher operations, like intellect and will, engage with brain- and body-related operations (like memory and imagination) by enlisting, coordinating, and guiding them by harnessing the organ functions that make them up.21 Which means that, if those organs don't work right, then the operations they constitute won't work right either, so the soul won't be able to use them so smoothly. Even centuries ago, Christians knew that “if certain corporeal organs have been harmed, the soul cannot directly understand either itself or anything else, as when the brain is injured.”22 Everything we've learned about the brain since then has just helped fill in the details. Damage to the brain impedes mental powers like memory that, though rooted in the soul, the whole person only performs through the brain as his or her tool, since the soul's higher operations can't effectively enlist and guide those mental powers when the organs that support them are malfunctioning.23
So what does all this tell us? First, it tells us something supremely important about our loved ones (or future selves) who are mentally ill or disabled, or who have dementia, or even who are comatose. And that's this: they are not gone. So often, we look at someone in that condition and, if it's bad enough, we say, “He's not here any more,” or “She died away a long time ago.” I've read one dementia researcher write about how many caregivers have told him “they feel as if they are losing the person to a kind of living death.”24 I've also read a mental health chaplain who's watched this say that he fears if he one day has dementia, “my loved ones might abandon me because they think that I am no longer there, that I'm already dead.”25 But we have to understand: they'd be wrong. Just because the mind is unfruitful, doesn't mean the spirit isn't active. Just because memories and expressiveness and motion and many other things pertaining to the outer man are quite wasted away, it doesn't mean that the inner man has called it quits and fled the coop. If the body is still operating, if the heart is still beating, if the lungs are still breathing, if there's still any activity in the brain at all, then you can know for sure that the soul is still informing the body, still present as the active principle of life to the body; and if the soul and body are together, that really is the person, that's the same him or same her or same you as before.
And if that holds true for the most advanced stages of dementia, it's got to hold true for any lesser stage. The personality might change – for that's part of the outer man – but the personhood, relating to the whole self, is unchanged.26 Nor could this hold any less true for those with Down syndrome, autism, schizophrenia, psychosis – you name it. Conditions in the brain, relations in the environment, experiences of trauma might add up to interfere with or alter the bodily basis for the powers with which the soul tries to engage, but the soul is no less present than in the healthiest, brightest person you've ever met. Whatever the case, the person is definitely there and present, body and soul, even if some functions become disrupted, diminished, or damaged.
Which has serious implications for how we treat them. See, if we assume a person with dementia is less than a person, then we might convince ourselves he needs less care and attention, or is beneath considerations of pain and pleasure. But doctors have observed that even people with the most severe dementia “still value pleasant experiences such as eating tasty foods..., good aromas..., viewing beautiful scenes...”27 When we assume that dementia or a coma diminishes personhood, we assume our commitments and obligations to them no longer apply. We probably all know tales where people decide their marriage vows don't fully bind them to a spouse with dementia – “after all,” they might say, “my spouse is gone inside, and I've got needs I deserve to meet with or without him, with or without her.” I've read plenty of articles with such stories.28 But he or she isn't gone. That's still your husband, still your wife, fully, in this sickness as much as in any health. And to act on the opposite assumption and break solemn commitments is adulterous and a real harm to that spouse with mental illness or dementia or coma, whether or not they know it. So let this “marriage be held in honor among all,” as much as any other marriage, “for God will judge... the adulterous,” it's written (Hebrews 13:4).
When we assume a person with dementia is less than a full person, that he or she is somehow already gone, then we're likely to fail in treating him or her with the fundamental respect he or she is due. A loved one with illness or schizophrenia or dementia or in a coma is still made in God's image, still deserving of sacred respect. He or she is still a neighbor, of whom God commands, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). He or she is still among those of whom Peter reminds: “Honor everyone” (1 Peter 2:17).
We love and honor by trying to understand and appreciate what they might be trying to communicate.29 We love and honor by aiming to help them attend more to what they can do than what they can't.30 We love and honor by taking their preferences seriously, even when they can't express them in words.31 We love and honor by being concerned to avoid exposing them to unnecessary distress, discomfort, or embarrassment.32 And we love and honor by protecting them and tending to their enduring needs.33
And likewise, when it comes to our own sake, when we fail to understand the inner man, then maybe we make these situations out to be more terrifying than they need to be. Part of our fear of conditions like mental illness or dementia is the fear of losing our very selves – not just traits or capacities, but ourselves being lost in some way. But Paul's words imply that that can't happen. If you develop dementia, you will still be you. Sometimes maybe you won't feel like you, as you're used to feeling. Maybe you worry you soon won't act like the you that people recognize. Maybe you're concerned you won't remember your own story any more. But even if all that does happen, you cannot lose yourself. However much those things weaken and harm the outer man, the inner man – deeper than memory, deeper than experience, deeper than personality – won't be lost. As the old German doctor put it: “the eternal property of our spirit can be stolen from us by nothing.”34
Second of all, all this means that presence continues to be valuable. We also love and honor someone by being with them. The social self is so much more than the mental self. If someone you care for is in a coma, or in an advanced state of dementia, or delirious, or in some other way truly impaired, well, it doesn't actually matter if he or she 'knows' that you're in the room – it's still important to be there. The brain's response or the body's response to you might be inhibited, but who's to say anything of the spirit or the heart? One dementia sufferer writes it this way: “Please keep visiting me, even if I might not remember that you came before, or even who you are. The emotion of your visit, the friendly feelings you give to me, are far more important. … If I enjoy your visit, why must I remember it? … Isolation is a real problem for us.”35 One doctor has observed that, “for the most part, persons even in the most severe stages of dementia seem to do better when others pay attention to them, demonstrating that they are still social beings. … Contrary to what we might think, the gift of presence is perhaps most significant in the advanced stage of dementia.” Feeling that a visit doesn't 'count' if it isn't reacted to or remembered “may be precisely the wrong conclusion.”36
And then, third, Paul doesn't just say that the 'inner man' survives while the outer man is wasting away. Paul says that “though the outer man is wasting away, the inner man is being renewed day by day” (2 Corinthians 4:16). And that's a more striking picture! The same processes of decay afflicting the outer man can be the occasion of more of God's grace for the soul. We should know, I hope, that that's true in bodily injuries and illnesses, where we can be matured and perfected “through suffering,” as the Bible says (Hebrews 2:10). But it's no less true in concussions, in mental illness, in dementia, or even in the depths of a coma. That whole time, the sufferings you or your loved one are going through can be a means of grace, an opportunity for the inner self to be in the transforming presence of God, relying on him in ways unmediated by the outer man and his powers.
For just as it helps a person with severe dementia to receive a visit from a friend, even if they don't recognize or even indicate awareness of the visitor, so a person is always open to a visit by God – even when it comes amidst silence, even when it comes amidst ignorance. The inner man, inner person, inner self can experience and relate to God even when that encounter is totally unknown to the mental powers, even when it isn't registering in our brains or making a memory or leading the imagination or causing any emotion at all. “Deep calls to deep at the roar of your waterfalls” (Psalm 42:7). Beneath this cloud of unknowing, that relation continues on unimpeded and pours renewing grace into the receptive soul in the inner man.
And so, as the outer man wastes away – as memories fade from view, as faces become unplaceable, as decision-making falters, as communication dwindles, as personality and behaviors change – even then, the inner man can be getting stronger, keener, even holier, as a result of this spiritual encounter with God unmediated by the outer man's powers. Such increases in holiness and inner strength may remain unseen, even to the person they're happening in. But though it may not look that way, sound that way, or feel that way, it can be real. A woman with dementia whose formerly sweet personality now seems angry and rude might very well be far holier now than she was before her behavior changed – for the behavioral change can be simply a result of the brain no longer giving the soul what it needs to express and act out what's happening within. The behavioral changes are the outer self wasting away, but the inner self, the inner woman, is day by day being renewed! Or take a man in a persistent vegetative state, attached to feeding tube and IV, heart monitor steadily beeping away, unable to eat or drink or speak or move or blink, with no conscious thoughts and maybe no earthly chance of recovery. Yet he may well be absolutely radiant in soul, attaining spiritual heights equal to Peter and Paul. The outer man, with so many mental powers, is clearly wasting away; but the inner man is day by day being renewed!
All that's just living out the pattern of our baptism: “We were buried with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:4). Newness of life – it happens there where we're born again, and continues to grow day by day in the renewal of the inner person!
So, a quick recap: The outer you – including not just your body but also the mental powers operating through your brain – is vulnerable to the forces of decay in the world. They can get hurt, damaged, disrupted. But there is more to you than the outer you. There's also an inner you, an unseen you. Neither is more 'real' than the other. Both together is who you are. The body is the real you, the brain is the real you, but so is the soul, so is the spirit. And this inner you has an inner life deeper than memory, experience, and sensation. It's untouchable by the ravages of dementia or anything else. Disability, mental illness, dementia, coma – they can do a lot to handicap, weaken, harm, or break the outer you. But no matter how severe, there's nothing they can do to the inner you. Just the opposite: the wasting away of the outer you is where the inner you can be renewed, not just in extreme situations, not just once in a lifetime, but day by day. Dementia and other afflictions of the outer self can make the inner self shine all the brighter.
And there's more good news. All these things – injuries, cancer, mental illness, dementia, coma? Paul calls them all “a light momentary affliction,” and he promises it's actively “preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:17). As one doctor chimes in here: “Though the troubles of Alzheimer's seem unending, the struggle is just for a short time. God promises us that our current sufferings are as nothing compared to the joys we will experience if we put our trust in him.”37 That's what the daily renewal is about: this inner renewal day by day is a daily foretaste as the glory swells toward its grand crescendo! And “we know that, if the tent that is our earthly home is destroyed” – if our outer man totally wastes away – then “we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens” (2 Corinthians 5:1).
Paul's dream is not for his inner man to float off on its own steam. Paul knows how intimately related body and soul are for completeness. He doesn't want his inner man to “be unclothed” and “found naked,” but “to be further clothed, so that what is mortal may be swallowed up in life” (2 Corinthians 5:3-4). Paul looks forward to a day of resurrection, when renewed inner man shines perfectly through rebuilt outer man, and he and we will all be more than complete in God. For “he who began a good work in you” – before the injury, before illness, before dementia, before whatever else – “will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Philippians 1:6). “Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it” (1 Thessalonians 5:23-24). Amen.
1 Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, Die Symbolik des Traumes (C. F. Kunz, 1814), 145-146.
2 Adam Marshal, The Morbid Anatomy of the Brain in Mania and Hydrophobia (Longman, Hurst, etc., 1815), 150-152.
3 See, e.g., George A. Mashour, et al., “Paradoxical Lucidity: A Potential Paradigm Shift for the Neurobiology and Treatment of Severe Dementias,” Alzheimer's & Dementia 15 (2019): 1107-1114; Mehmet Bostanciklioğlu, “Unexpected Awakenings in Severe Dementia from Case Reports to Laboratory,” Alzheimer's & Dementia 17 (2021): 125-133. Yoshihisa Hirakawa and Kazumasa Uemura, “Signs and Symptoms of Impending Death in End-of-Life Elderly Dementia Sufferers: Point of View of Formal Caregivers in Rural Areas – A Qualitative Study,” Journal of Rural Medicine 7/2 (2012): 61 refer to the phenomenon as “preagonal vital power” and draw a link to some terminal cancer patients who temporarily rally physical strength prior to death, but Hirakawa and Uemura do not attempt to explain either in this paper.
4 See, e.g., Michael Nahm, “Terminal Lucidity in People with Mental Illness and Other Mental Disability: An Overview and Implications for Possible Explanatory Models,” Journal of Near-Death Studies 28/2 (Winter 2009): 98-102; Gerard M. Verschuuren, Aquinas and Modern Science: A New Synthesis of Faith and Reason (Angelico Press, 2016), 197.
5 Adam Marshal, The Morbid Anatomy of the Brain in Mania and Hydrophobia (Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, & Brown, 1815), 242-243.
6 Adam Marshal, The Morbid Anatomy of the Brain in Mania and Hydrophobia (Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, & Brown, 1815), 223-224.
7 Adam Marshal, The Morbid Anatomy of the Brain in Mania and Hydrophobia (Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, & Brown, 1815), 243.
8 Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, Die Symbolik des Traumes (C. F. Kunz, 1814), 144.
9 Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, Die Symbolik des Traumes (C. F. Kunz, 1814), 69.
10 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I.75.4
11 Cyril of Alexandria, in his Second Letter to Nestorius of February 430, refers to “a complete man composed of soul and body.”
12 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I.75.2
13 E.g., Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I.75.4 ad 1 clarifies that the 'outer man' is “the sentient part” of the soul “along with the body,” while in his Lectures on 2 Corinthians §147, Aquinas glossed 'outer man' as “the body with its sentient nature.”
14 Daniel D. De Haan, “Hylomorphic Animalism, Emergentism, and the Challenge of the New Mechanist Philosophy of Neuroscience,” Scientia et Fides 5/2 (2017): 15; and Saša Horvat, “Neuroscientific Findings in the Light of Aquinas' Understanding of the Human Being,” Scientia et Fides 5/2 (2017): 131.
15 Juan José Sanguinetti, “Can We Compare Aquinas' Philosophy with Modern Science?”, FORUM: Supplement to Acta Philosophica 5/1 (2019): 432; Michael J. Dodds, “The Reality of the Soul in an Age of Neuroscience,” Nova et Vetera 17/3 (Summer 2019): 909-910.
16 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I.75.4 ad 1 identifies the 'inner man' as “the intellective part of man.”
17 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 132.
18 Gyuna Klima, “Aquinas on the Materiality of the Human Soul and the Immateriality of the Human Intellect,” Philosophical Investigations 32/2 (April 2009): 172.
19 Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae I.79.6 and Supplement 70.2 ad 4.
20 Michael Egnor, “A Map of the Soul,” First Things, 29 June 2017. <https://www.firstthings.com/web-exclusives/2017/06/a-map-of-the-soul>.
21 Daniel D. De Haan, “The Interaction of Noetic and Psychosomatic Operations in a Thomist Hylomorphic Anthropology,” Scientia et Fides 6/2 (2018): 69.
22 Thomas Aquinas, Disputed Questions on Spiritual Creatures 2 ad 7.
23 Daniel D. De Haan, “The Interaction of Noetic and Psychosomatic Operations in a Thomist Hylomorphic Anthropology,” Scientia et Fides 6/2 (2018): 77-79.
24 Benjamin T. Mast, Second Forgetting: Remembering the Power of the Gospel During Alzheimer's Disease (Zondervan, 2014), 59.
25 John Swinton, Dementia: Living in the Memories of God (Eerdmans, 2012), 3-4.
26 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 103-104.
27 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 69-70.
28 E.g., Alicia Mundy, “Of Love and Alzheimer's,” Wall Street Journal, 3 November 2009, <https://www.wsj.com/articles/SB10001424052748704317704574503631569278424>; Joanna Moorhead, “I had an affair while my husband had dementia,” The Guardian, 24 October 2015, <https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/oct/24/i-had-an-affair-while-husband-dying-dementia-lewy-bodies-rebecca-de-saintonge>; Jennifer Graham, “She has Alzheimer's. He has a girlfriend. Is he committing adultery?”, Deseret News, 14 February 2019, <https://www.deseret.com/2019/2/14/20665816/she-has-alzheimer-s-he-has-a-girlfriend-is-he-committing-adultery>. More recently still was the case of a Saudi Arabian man rendered comatose in a traffic accident whose wife filed for divorce two months later, arguing that her husband was dead, and who then remarried – only to have her original husband emerge from his coma six months after the accident to find his wife with a new man! See Kitam al-Amir, “Saudi Man Wakes Up After 6 Months to Find Wife Has Remarried,” Gulf News, 9 February 2022, <https://gulfnews.com/world/gulf/saudi/saudi-man-wakes-up-after-6-months-in-coma-to-find-wife-has-remarried-1.85558031>.
29 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 116-117.
30 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 120.
31 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 118, 129.
32 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 119, 130.
33 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 128-129.
34 Gotthilf Heinrich von Schubert, Die Symbolik des Traumes (C. F. Kunz, 1814), 146: “...das ewige Eigenthum unsers Geistes kann uns durch nichts entwendet werden.”
35 Christine Bryden, Dancing with Dementia: My Story of Living Positively with Dementia (Jessica Kingsley, 2005), 110, 121.
36 John Dunlop, Finding Grace in the Face of Dementia (Crossway, 2017), 69, 115.
37 Benjamin T. Mast, Second Forgetting: Remembering the Power of the Gospel During Alzheimer's Disease (Zondervan, 2014), 71.
No comments:
Post a Comment