Yesterday and today have been reading days – the plan was to read a chapter or two of half a dozen books, just to start my thinking in a few different areas [i’m still on a very steep learning curve with this new role!]. Instead, i’ve found myself absolutely engrossed by Karen Armstrong’s latest book, The case for God, and haven’t moved past it.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about moments of transformation – we can’t create them, but we can make space where they might be possible… In the first chapter of Armstrong’s book, she walks us through a history of religion and ritual since humankind first existed, beginning with the rituals that shape pre-historic life. For the pre-modern person, myth only makes sense in the context of the ritual which brings it to life. It isn’t the myth that’s important, or even the truth behind it; instead what matters is the transformation caused by the ritual. It’s pointless knowing that death is intimately entangled with life if you don’t live as though that’s true. So, 30 000 years ago, a boy would crawl through a mile of underground labyrinthine passages – with no light, and to the terrifying sound effects of screaming and thumping – to find himself in a cave covered with paintings, where he would be introduced to the tribal rituals surrounding hunting, victory, death and birth… and there in the cave he wouldn’t just hear the stories; he would know them through a new lens of courage, because he’d had to find that courage simply to make it to the cave. And, when he left the cave and faced the inevitable terrors of the adult world, he would know where to find courage to live…

‘Like any work of art’ Armstrong says, ‘a myth will make no sense unless we open ourselves to it wholeheartedly and allow it to change us. If we hold ourselves aloof, it will remain opaque, incomprehensible and even ridiculous.’

Which is the luxury and the peril of our time – that we can hold ourselves aloof from the myths of life and death…

So how do we create the places where we can come face to face with fear and desolation… and where we practise courage for the moment we need it? It’s going to be fun trying… Perhaps the turbine hall at the Tate Modern is an example… the last two paragraphs of the Guardian’s review make me want to get back on a plane and go visit…