My brother speaks of the veil as though thinning it were the same as lifting it, and here I must offer a different teaching. Among my people, the Dagara, the ancestors have never been silent about death's approach—they whisper it constantly through divination, through dream, through the behavior of certain birds at certain crossings. What you call a 'revelation,' we would call the formalization of what the spirit world has always been doing. And precisely because we have lived with this dialogue for generations, I can tell you: it is not the knowing that saves or destroys a person—it is the community that receives the knowledge with them.
Your parable of the virgins imagines each person standing alone before their lamp. But in our cosmology, no one tends their flame in solitude. When the ancestors signal a death approaching, the entire village enters into ritual preparation—not for the dying one alone, but for the living who must remain. A new religious institution arising from this discovery that ignores this communal dimension will produce exactly the spiritual catastrophe you fear: individuals paralyzed by private terror or puffed up with private defiance. What I would speculate, then, is that the most spiritually coherent response to such a discovery would not be a new doctrine about death, but a new practice of communal holding—ritual circles formed around each person who has learned their date, to ensure that knowledge does not calcify into ego but flows back into relationship.
The danger is not in knowing the day. The danger is in the Western habit of making such knowledge a possession of the individual self rather than an offering returned to the community's altar.