"Doubt is not a pleasant condition, but certainty is absurd." — Voltaire
Humans are not primarily bound by reason; we're are bound by shared narratives, beliefs, and emotions. The easiest way to form a strong emotional connection with someone is not through logical discussion, but through a shared irrational belief. When two people hold the same irrational belief, they validate each other's worldview instantly, without the need for deep analysis or justification. There is an immediate tribal connection, an unspoken sense of, we understand something that others don't.
Rational discussion, on the other hand, often fails to provide this same emotional bond. It requires analysis, questioning, and the ability to tolerate ambiguity. It does not allow for the same instant emotional resonance that irrationality provides. A person who says, I think all cyclists are idiots, will bond much faster with someone who agrees than with someone who offers a nuanced counterpoint like, Well, some cyclists are reckless, but most are fine. In the first case, there is no friction—just immediate agreement. The second response introduces complexity, forcing both people to think critically, and weakening the emotional intensity of the connection. It's a fascinating self-reinforcing cycle—you start by consciously believing that all cyclists are idiots, and over time, your brain begins to internalise that belief. As it becomes ingrained, your brain distorts your perception of reality to fit the narrative. Every action by a cyclist, no matter how neutral or even polite, is subconsciously rationalised to align with your belief. A cyclist might give way to you—an objectively considerate act—but instead of recognising it as such, you find a way to interpret it as incompetence or irritation. This process happens without conscious awareness, further reinforcing and strengthening the original irrational belief that all cyclists are idiots.
This dynamic plays out in almost every facet of human interaction. Political extremism thrives because certainty is emotionally satisfying. People who believe all politicians are corrupt connect more easily than those who say, some politicians are bad, but there are good ones too. Sports tribalism functions the same way. Two fans who hate a particular player for missing a pass will feed off each other's outrage, reinforcing their emotional bond. If a third fan interjects with, Maybe he just had a bad game, we don't know what is going on behind the scenes, he's usually great, the emotional momentum is lost. Certainty creates intensity, and intensity fosters connection. Irrationality is an emotional shortcut. It provides immediate comfort and validation, whereas rationality requires effort, self-awareness, and tolerance for complexity. In the modern world, we see this phenomenon amplified by social media, where extreme takes and absolute beliefs spread like wildfire. Algorithms reward certainty, not nuance. A post that says, This politician is evil and ruining the country, will generate more engagement than a post that carefully weighs the pros and cons. The result is a digital landscape dominated by emotional certainty rather than intellectual honesty.
But this raises a deeper question: why are humans so drawn to certainty in the first place? Evolutionarily, certainty was a survival mechanism. Tribal cohesion was necessary for early human societies, and shared belief systems—no matter how irrational—created unity. Doubt and nuance create hesitation, and hesitation is a liability in a survival-based environment. If one tribe believed that the neighbouring tribe is evil and must be attacked, and another tribe hesitated and said, Well, let's evaluate their actions rationally, the hesitant tribe would likely be the one to perish (at least in the short term). Certainty, even if based on falsehoods, was undoubtedly evolutionarily advantageous. If irrationality strengthens social bonds, while rationality weakens them, does that mean irrationality is essential to human cohesion? More importantly, does that mean a fully rational society is impossible? If a society were entirely rational, it would lack the intense emotional cohesion that irrational beliefs provide. It might be more stable, less violent, and less prone to ideological extremism, but, perhaps it would also be existentially uncomfortable. So which is worse: a world where people struggle with existential discomfort, or a world where irrational tribalism dominates? Intelligence leads to doubt, nuance, and existential questioning, which can result in discomfort and even higher rates of depression. But irrationality leads to genocide, slavery, and war. If the cost of intelligence is existential discomfort, I'd argue that it is still a far better alternative to the chaos of unchecked stupidity. Genocide, slavery, war, and ideological extremism have all been driven by societies gripped by collective certainty. The belief that our people are chosen, our ideology is infallible, or our enemies are evil leads directly to human catastrophe.
Discomfort forces people to confront reality as it is, rather than retreat into delusions that provide emotional security at the cost of truth. But history has shown that slight existential discomfort—the unease that comes from recognising gaps in our understanding—has been the very thing that has driven human progress. Newton rejected the certainty that motion was governed by some divine force, sensing that there had to be something more, something deeper that explained the mechanics of the universe. That existential discomfort led to the formulation of classical mechanics. Similarly, Einstein's theory of relativity shattered the comforting notion of absolute time, revealing instead that time is an illusion, warped by gravity and velocity. This was deeply unsettling, but it is precisely this truth that enables modern technology, from GPS to the entire digital infrastructure that we now rely upon. When quantum mechanics emerged, with Heisenberg's uncertainty principle and Schrödinger's wave functions, it revealed an entirely new layer of reality—one that defied intuition and contradicted classical physics. It was unsettling to scientists and philosophers alike, forcing humanity to acknowledge that the fundamental nature of reality is probabilistic, not deterministic— even then, there are still theoretical gaps that exist within quantum mechanics, gaps that even the best minds in the world have not managed to yet fill. Before this, many turned to religion and divine explanations for certainty, but quantum mechanics stripped away that illusion. Yes, with every major scientific discovery, there is a period of deep existential discomfort. Existential discomfort is what drives human progress— an acknowledgement of uncertainty, a deeply paradoxical chase. Paradoxical because no matter how much we uncover, knowledge is infinite, and so the chase never ends. But at the end of the day, it is truth—not certainty—that allows us to progress as a society.
To conclude, short-term certainty might feel good, but it is ultimately fragile. The longer an individual or society clings to an illusion, the harder the collapse when reality asserts itself. When tribal dogma overrides rational thought, it creates a system built on sand—unstable, resistant to change, and doomed to failure. The societies that thrive are not the ones that insulate themselves in comforting fictions, but the ones that embrace the discomfort of uncertainty and use it to drive progress.
The challenge, then, is to transcend our evolutionary desire for certainty and recognise that only by embracing discomfort can we continue to uncover the nature of reality itself. Or perhaps, irrationality is so deeply embedded, that it is not even practically possible?