The Curse of Certainty

If you want a lively discussion, talk about death and dying. Few subjects provoke stronger reactions. Some people avoid the topic entirely, while others speak about it with absolute conviction. Some believe in heaven and hell, others in reincarnation, and others still in the idea that death is simply the end. Many build entire worldviews around religion, philosophy, science, or personal experiences in an attempt to explain what waits beyond life.

What fascinates me is not the conclusions themselves, but the certainty behind them. People speak about death as though they possess knowledge no living person could truly have. Yet certainty about the unknown often feels less like wisdom and more like comfort—a shield against uncertainty. And as Nigel suggests, this may be rooted in early childhood and the wounds we may have incurred.

With such a wide spectrum of beliefs comes an equally wide spectrum of certainty. At one end are strict materialists who see consciousness as nothing more than chemistry and view death as total annihilation. To them, any mystery surrounding death is simply a problem waiting to be solved by neuroscience and biology. At the other end are those who claim detailed knowledge of an afterlife, spiritual planes, reincarnation, or divine judgment. Despite their differences, both positions often share the same confidence: the belief that the unknown has already been explained.

But I wonder if certainty itself is the problem. Instead of asking, “What happens after death?” perhaps a better question is: “Why do we need an answer so badly?”Human beings are uncomfortable with uncertainty. We crave conclusions. We want reality to be settled and understandable, especially when confronting something as immense and inevitable as death. The idea of simply not knowing feels intolerable to many people. What Nigel suggests is very interesting to explore: it may be that unresolved emotional wounds are propelling us into certainty about whatever we believe about death. This may hold for the pure materialists as well as for Christians, Buddhists or shamanists. Certainty functions as a way of dealing with core wounds and how these play out in our lives, such as control, avoidance, anxiety, guilt, resentment, or compulsive caregiving. It protects who we believe we are - our identity. Even apparently open positions, such as Feynman’s comfort with “not knowing,” can become part of a defended sense of self.

Where do I stand? I guess I am with Feynman’s “not knowing”. I do realise the possibility this is a core wound trap. It could easily be anxiety, which, if I have one, would be my core wound. In this frame uncertainty itself may function as a disguised way of certainty… And yet, I find a strange peace in uncertainty. The more I think about death, the more honest the answer “I don’t know” begins to feel. Not as an expression of ignorance to be ashamed of, but as an acknowledgment of the limits of being human. It allows me to being curious to the unknown, a book that still has to be written, the awe of big secrets.

  Recently, I started volunteering at Dorothy House. I will be spending time with people who are dying. That prospect has only strengthened my comfort with uncertainty. Sitting beside someone who is near the end of life has a way of stripping away abstract theories and intellectual performances. In those moments, certainty matters far less than presence, compassion, and honesty. And I hope my uncertainty will give some space to that person.

So, when people ask me what I think happens after death, I increasingly feel content giving the simplest answer possible: “I don’t know, and I’m happy with that ignorance.”

Bas Verplanken 19 May 2026