The Case
Claire had experienced what many might call a spiritual awakening. After years of being a good Catholic—attending Sunday Mass, praying occasionally, volunteering when she could—something changed. One evening during a parish retreat, a Scripture passage pierced her heart like never before. She felt seen, called, and loved by Jesus in a deeply personal way. For the first time, she knew—not just believed—that Christ was alive and speaking to her heart.
From that moment, her life began to change. She adjusted her daily routine to make time for prayer—serious time. An hour each morning became her sacred appointment. She went to confession more regularly, began spiritual reading, and found a spiritual director. Her enthusiasm was contagious. Friends noticed the joy and peace in her face. “I feel like I’ve finally started living,” she would say. Prayer was alive. God was present. The Scriptures burned with light.
But now, a year or so later, things were not the same.
“I don’t enjoy prayer like I used to,” she confided to her spiritual director. “I still go. I still try. But I don’t feel God anymore. It’s like the light has gone out. I must be doing something wrong. Or maybe God is upset with me.”
She lowered her voice. “To be honest, I’m tempted to shorten my prayer time. Sometimes, I wonder if I should stop altogether.”
Reading the Signs of the Journey
Many well-intentioned responses could be offered to Claire. Some would tell her to simply persevere and remain faithful to her prayer time, even when it feels empty. Others might reassure her that the enjoyment will return in due course. Still others might redirect her attention toward what they call “solid ground”: the practice of the virtues, the duties of daily life, the fidelity to commitments—whether one feels God or not.
Each of these responses contains a portion of the truth. But none of them fully explains what is really happening in Claire’s spiritual life. Why did prayer once feel so alive, and now seem so dry? Why does God, who once seemed so close, now appear distant? What has changed?
To answer these questions meaningfully, we must go deeper. We need more than surface encouragement or isolated practices. We need to understand the inner workings of the spiritual life—how God leads a soul, how the human person responds, and how both grace and nature interact along the journey. In short, we must turn to what classical theology calls spiritual anthropology, or supernatural anthropology: the study of the human person in light of grace and divine action.
This is not abstract theory. It is the key to offering sound and fruitful spiritual direction. It enables us to interpret experiences like Claire’s not as signs of failure or regression, but as part of the normal progression of spiritual growth. Without this understanding, even sincere souls may become confused or discouraged when the path of grace leads them through unfamiliar terrain.
In the following pages, we will begin to explore this spiritual anthropology—starting with how the human person responds to grace at the beginning of the spiritual journey, and how God, as a loving and wise Father, gradually draws the soul from a sensible experience of His presence to a deeper, more purified union.
Understanding Claire’s Experience Through Supernatural Anthropology
Claire’s struggle is not unusual; in fact, it is a necessary part of the journey of growth in the Christian life. But to interpret it rightly, we need to look beneath the surface. The disappearance of sensible enjoyment in prayer is not necessarily a sign that something has gone wrong. On the contrary, it may be a sign that something is going right. That is: God is gently beginning to purify her love and educate her spirit. And to grasp that, we need to understand the two modes of functioning that coexist within every person—the Old Man and the New Man.
According to the Scriptures and the living spiritual tradition of the Church—especially the teachings of St. Paul, St. John of the Cross, and St. Teresa of Avila—there are two principles at work in every Christian: the Old Man and the New Man. These are not two separate persons, but two different ways of functioning within the same person. The Old Man lives according to the desires of the flesh—meaning, not necessarily sinful desires, but a mode of life oriented toward the senses, imagination, emotions, and the external world. The New Man, on the other hand, lives according to the Spirit. He functions through the higher faculties of the soul: the mind and the will, enlightened by grace and directed toward God through the theological acts of faith, hope, and love.
In the early stages of Claire’s renewed spiritual life—what we often call the “second conversion”—she experienced great joy and sensible consolation. This was a grace: God, in His goodness, often encourages the soul with palpable signs of His presence to help it detach from sin and begin building new habits. But during this time, many of the acts Claire made in prayer were, though sincere and good, still supported by the emotional and sensory satisfaction that accompanied them. This is what St. Teresa of Avila calls spiritual sweetness—a natural, though grace-assisted, pleasure that flows from virtuous activity. It originates in the soul’s faculties and is heightened by God’s help, but it still “feels good” in the usual human way.
After a while, God often begins to withdraw these emotional reinforcements, not out of neglect, but out of love. His goal is not to leave Claire in the dark, but to draw her deeper. He wants her to begin acting in prayer not because it feels good, but because it is good—because she believes, hopes, and loves, even in the absence of pleasure or sensible experience. This shift marks the beginning of a new phase in spiritual growth, one in which the New Man begins to mature and take the lead.
From the outside, it may seem that nothing is happening. In fact, it may even feel like a regression. But from the standpoint of supernatural anthropology, something profound is underway. The New Man—the one created by grace—is learning to walk not by sight, but by faith. He is learning to rely less on the senses and more on God’s presence in the deepest part of the soul, even when that presence is not felt.
In this light, Claire’s temptation to shorten or abandon prayer is understandable, but misguided. The dryness she experiences is not a sign of failure; it is an invitation to a more pure and stable form of love. Her challenge now is to learn how to make acts of faith, hope, and love without the support of the senses, and to recognise that this kind of prayer is, in fact, more meritorious and fruitful, even if it feels empty.
The Old Man resists this transition. He is accustomed to functioning through the senses, emotions, and external stimuli. He wants immediate reward, and when it is no longer available, he protests: What’s the point? God feels far. This isn’t working anymore. But the New Man, under the influence of grace, begins to understand that true union with God is not founded on feelings, but on deep interior acts of love and surrender, often hidden from our natural perception.
Living from the Centre: The Functioning of the New Man
To understand what is now happening in Claire’s soul—and in the soul of anyone undergoing this same transition—we must understand how the New Man operates. The New Man is the regenerated self, the “new creation” born of Baptism and reawakened in the second conversion. He lives, not by the lights and satisfactions of the world, but by the light of grace and the presence of God dwelling at the centre of the soul.
Whereas the Old Man seeks knowledge, security, and fulfillment by turning outward—toward sensory experience, imagination, emotion, and worldly measures—the New Man turns inward and upward, towards God, who dwells in the deepest centre of our being. His way of functioning engages the upper faculties of the soul: the mind and the will, raised and empowered by the theological virtues: faith, hope, and charity. These virtues are infused, meaning they are gifts from God, not merely human efforts, and they are the specific channels through which the New Man lives and grows.
The Act of Faith
Faith enables the soul to see with God’s eyes. It is not mere assent to doctrine, but a living light that illuminates the meaning of our life and the hidden presence of God in all things. For Claire, this means believing that God is present and active, even when she feels nothing. When she makes an act of faith—“Lord, I believe that You are here, loving me, guiding me”—she is functioning as the New Man. This act is invisible to the senses, but deeply real, and in God’s eyes, far more precious than feelings.
St. Paul writes, “The life I live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself up for me”(Gal 2:20). This is not poetic language; it is the literal blueprint of the spiritual life. Faith allows Claire to interpret her dryness not as abandonment, but as an invitation to a deeper intimacy.
The Act of Hope
Hope gives the soul supernatural desire. It teaches us what to long for: not emotional highs or worldly success, but union with God Himself. Hope tells us: God wants to give you Himself, totally. He is faithful. Do not settle for less.
In this moment of apparent absence, Claire’s hope must rise. She can say: “Lord, I do not feel You, but I trust You. I know You are leading me, and I long for the union You have promised.” This act lifts her soul toward Heaven and keeps her from despair. Hope is not optimism; it is confidence in divine action, even through trial.
Hope also purifies intention. It detaches the soul from seeking God only for the consolations He gives, and draws her to seek God for God’s sake, which is the condition for deep union.
The Act of Love
Charity—the act of supernatural love—is the highest expression of the New Man. It is not merely a feeling of affection or goodwill, but a supernatural participation in the love of God Himself. When Claire says in her heart, “Lord, I love You, I choose You, I give myself to You,” even with no sensible confirmation, she is offering an act of love more pleasing to God than many emotional prayers.
This love is often naked—stripped of sweetness—but therefore more pure. It mirrors Christ’s own love on the Cross: total, trusting, faithful. The act of love brings the soul into deeper union with God, not through vision or feeling, but through a shared will.
A Hidden but Powerful Work
These acts—faith, hope, and love—may seem small, even imperceptible. They do not always stir the emotions. But they are the most powerful movements of the soul because they correspond exactly to the life of grace. They are the proper acts of the New Man, and when repeated faithfully, they strengthen his hold in the soul and weaken the influence of the Old Man.
This is why dryness in prayer, though painful, can be profoundly fruitful: it trains the soul to walk by these acts, to grow in maturity, and to prepare for a more stable and intimate union with God. In this stage, Claire is not moving backward—she is being rooted more deeply in the life of grace.
To guide someone like Claire, therefore, is not only to tell her to “persevere,” but to teach her how to live as the New Man—to make deliberate, repeated acts of faith, hope, and love in prayer, especially when all feelings are absent. These acts are not abstract or psychological. They are real, grace-filled decisions made with the will, enlightened by the truth of God’s Word, and directed to Him who dwells in the innermost sanctuary of the soul.
A Word to Claire — and to Every Soul on the Journey
So what is really happening to Claire?
At the beginning of her renewed life with Christ, God, in His tender mercy, came down to her level. He spoke her language—the language of the Old Man—a language built on feelings, images, impressions, and emotional sweetness. This was not a mistake. It was His deliberate choice, a loving accommodation to her weakness and inexperience, as a mother lowers herself to speak to her infant child. He offered her milk—a nourishment adapted to spiritual infancy.
This milk came in the form of sensible consolations, felt presence, warmth in prayer, clarity of direction, and a general sense of joy in her newfound relationship with Jesus. God used her senses, emotions, imagination, and even her thoughts to reflect His presence. But as St. Teresa of Avila says, this “sweetness” is not God Himself—it is a reflection, a refracted echo of His grace in our lower faculties.
At this stage, Claire began to love God and follow Him. And she did so with sincerity. But her love, like that of every beginner, was still supported from outside, nourished by what she could feel and sense. Now, God is inviting her to something much greater: to love Him from within, from the deepest part of her soul, with her full freedom.
This is why the milk seems to disappear. Not because God is absent—but because He is calling her to grow, to activate the “muscles” of the New Man: the theological acts of faith, hope, and love.
This is the core message: God has not gone anywhere. He is present, in all His fullness, at the centre of Claire’s soul. He was always there. But now He desires to teach her how to live from that centre—how to walk not by emotional light, but by the inner light of grace. He is not withdrawing out of punishment, but elevating her out of love. He is weaning her from milk so that she can begin to feed on solid food.
The path forward is clear: Claire must learn how to make acts of faith, hope, and love, deliberately and daily. These acts, simple and often hidden, are her direct access to God. When she says, “Lord, I believe You are here,” even in dryness—that is an act of the New Man. When she says, “Lord, I hope in Your promise, even though I feel nothing,” she is walking in grace. When she says, “Lord, I love You for who You are, not for what I feel,” she is already entering into deeper union.
The more she exercises these acts, the stronger the New Man becomes. The more she turns inward, into that silent sanctuary where God dwells, the more she learns to live from grace rather than from emotional feedback. This is not spiritual failure—it is spiritual maturity. And it is the condition for lasting joy and profound intimacy with God.
So, Claire, you are not going backward. You are progressing.
There is more—much more—into the spiritual life than the initial sweetness. And what comes next is more stable, more fruitful, and more real. God is not leaving you behind; He is inviting you to go deeper, to meet Him where He truly dwells—in the centre of your soul, in the light of faith.
Formation in the Acts of Faith, Hope, and Love
A Simple Guide for Prayer and Daily Life
Now that we understand the central role of the theological acts—Faith, Hope, and Charity—it is essential to recognise that these are not merely pious gestures or devotional exercises. They are, in fact, the very operations of the New Man within us, the expression of the life we received in Baptism. Born “of water and the Spirit” (Jn 3:5), we were made new creatures in Christ, and it is through these acts that this new life begins to function, to breathe, to respond. These acts are simple in form: they are movements of the mind and will, freely chosen and supported by grace, by which the soul turns itself toward God. Whether expressed in words or silently in the heart, their power is immense, because they correspond to the very nature of divine life now dwelling within us. Through them, the soul opens itself to God’s presence, orients itself toward union, and allows the Holy Spirit to animate and guide it from within. It is therefore vital that we learn to make these acts deliberately—both in prayer and in daily life—so that the New Man may truly live in us.
1. The Act of Faith
“Lord, I know You are here.”
The act of faith is a quiet interior assent to the invisible presence of God. It is not about seeing or feeling—it is about choosing to believe, on the authority of God’s Word, that He dwells in you and that He is faithful.
You can make this act silently at the beginning of your prayer, or even throughout the day:
- “Lord, I know You are guiding me, even if I don’t feel it.”
- “Lord, I know You are with me in this trial.”
- “Even when I am unaware, I believe You are here.”
Each time you do, you are activating the New Man. And even if you don’t feel anything, this act draws you closer to God than many emotional experiences.
2. The Act of Hope
“Lord, I know You promised to give Yourself to me, to unite Yourself with me; this is my hope. You never deceive.”
Hope fixes the heart on the promises of God. It teaches you to desire union with Him, and to trust that He is working for your good—even when you see no progress.
You might say:
- “Lord, I hope in Your mercy.”
- “Lord, I trust Your promise to be with me, even when I don’t feel Your presence.”
- “I know You never deceive; this hope sustains me.”
Hope stretches the soul toward Heaven. It keeps you from discouragement and gives energy to persevere.
3. The Act of Love
“Lord, I love You, therefore I lean on Your Word, listen to You through it, and with Your help, I put it into practice.”
This is the most precious of all acts. Even when it is dry, it is real. When you say to God: “I choose You. I give myself to You. I want to love You, not for what You give, but for who You are,”—this is pure prayer. This is what God desires most.
You can say:
- “Jesus, I love You.”
- “Father, I give myself to You.”
- “Holy Spirit, burn in me with love.”
Even when you feel cold or distracted, this act—if made sincerely—delights God. It opens your soul to His transforming love.
How to Use These Acts in Prayer
At the beginning of your daily prayer time, take a moment to recollect yourself. Gently close your eyes. Turn your attention inward, toward the presence of God dwelling in your soul.
Then, slowly and intentionally, begin to make the acts:
- “Lord, I know You are here.” (pause)
- “Lord, I know You promised to give Yourself to me; this is my hope.” (pause)
- “Lord, I love You and lean on Your Word, listening and putting it into practice.” (pause)
You may repeat them, or rest in silence after making them. You may stay with one that seems to move your heart. Over time, you will notice that your prayer becomes more interior, more simplified, and more centred on God Himself—not on what you feel.
These acts are not formulas—they are movements of the heart. They are how the New Man prays.
A Practice for Daily Life
Even outside of formal prayer, you can make these acts:
- During a moment of stress: “Lord, I know You are here.”
- When you feel nothing: “Lord, I love You and lean on Your Word.”
- When tempted to despair: “Lord, I hope in Your promise; You never deceive.”
By making these acts repeatedly, throughout the day, you are training your soul to live from its centre. You are strengthening the life of grace. You are hastening the transformation God desires in you.
Final Encouragement
Do not worry if you feel nothing. These acts are not measured by emotion but by sincerity. A simple, pure act of love made in darkness pleases God more than a thousand tears.
Remember: the milk may pass, but God remains.
He is within you. He is forming you. And these acts are your bridge to Him, now and always.