As others have said, there is (or should be) no shame in answering “I don’t know.”
One of the most interesting things about human psychology, to me, is how poorly we accept the unanswered question. In this previous thread on atheism, one of the subjects discussed is The Great Unanswerable. It is typical of the human mind to continue asking Why? Why? Why? about anything and everything, digging down to first causes and then looking beyond them. But when we get to something that we can’t answer, we either formulate a working but untestable hypothesis (if we have a scientific bent) or we make some shit up and insist it’s true (if we’re not). Either way, it’s a placeholder, nothing more, because having a big gray box with a question mark in it makes us uneasy for some reason.
(There’s probably a decent metaphor to be found in the behavior of the average four year old kid who drives his parents nuts with ceaseless Why? inquiries. After the parent exhausts the rational explanations, it becomes tempting to shut the kid up either by appealing to authority — “Because I said so” — or by inventing outlandish answers that satisfy the kid’s imagination and teach behavioral lessons without actually explaining anything real. Like religion, basically.)
Really, just because a question can be asked doesn’t mean it can be answered, or that an answer is worth pursuing. We see many of the same questions come up over and over in GQ: What’s outside the universe? What if I go back in time and kill my mother? Or whatever. These are either nonsense questions, like asking why dividing by zero results in “infinity,” or they’re essentially philosophical, playing with the complex interrelationship between reality, knowledge, and comprehensible expressions of same. The fact that these are questions that keep coming up is interesting, from a standpoint of psychology; an attempt to come up with actual answers to these questions are not.
When I’m presented with what I consider an unanswerable question, I sometimes respond with one of my own. My current favorite is, “What’s the opposite of Elvis?” At first blush, it seems kind of silly. Then you start thinking about it; you can’t help it. Your brain tries to come up with a definition of Elvis such that an opposite of it can be determined. Naturally, any such definition will be completely subjective: Is it a musical definition, which points you in the direction of, say, Dokken? Is it a physical definition, suggesting that the opposite of Elvis is a crater on the moon filled with bird shit? But even if you recognize the completely meaningless nature of the question, even if you realize that trying to combine something with a concrete definition like “opposite of” with something to which that definition cannot be applied, like “Elvis,” the simple, straightforward, superficially grammatical, and apparently logical formulation of the question makes it seem like it should have an answer.
It doesn’t. But it feels like it ought to. And that, I believe, tells us a lot about how our brains are wired.
So keep that in mind when believers are peppering you with what are really unanswerable questions. You can try to explain the philosophical basis under which not only is it okay to have unanswered and unanswerable inquiries, it’s preferable to assigning a bunch of bullshit to them to make them go away. Or, you can attempt to enlighten them by making sort of a zen koan out of it.
“What happens after death?”
“The opposite of Elvis, man. The opposite of Elvis.”
Try that one out, and see what they say. 