For example, the sociologist who asks about the average SAT scores of people from different races. The answer to such a question is useless. Consider the other relevant questions that could be asked: we could assess childhood malnutrition and childhood healthcare by race and how it influences brain development. We could examine the distribution of race in the best schools around the country. We could examine the the rates at which students of different races consume the services of private tutors. While the first question leaves you with a simple answer that SAT scores of Whites and Asians are higher than those of Blacks and Latinos, the answer to any of the subsequent questions demonstrates the racism inherent in our society - that certain groups of people are systematically denied access to the same goods and services of others.
In a society that is inherently unequally raced, asking a question about race that fails to take into account the factors that produce the answer is not merely idiotic, it is dangerous. It leads us into a minefield of half-truths (or non-truths) and assumptions out of which it is impossible to extricate ourselves. A society as complex as our own commands answers worthy of such complexity. To make certain that we ask the right questions to get these necessarily complex answers, there must be some safeguard to ensure that we do not ask the wrong questions. That safeguard is the humanities.
Much has been made over the past few decades of the benefits of interdisciplinarity. The great benefit of the liberal arts, of course, is that one learns across a multiplicity of disciplines. The combination of the enterprises of the different disciplines is, I believe the goal. Yet too often the definition of interdisciplinarity is too narrow, particularly when talk about broad interdisciplinarity (the sciences and the humanities, for example). Ted Toadvine has pointed out six such myths of broad interdisciplinary study in Volume 1 of Thinking Nature.
Toadvine's brief article merits a full reading, for his conclusions are prescient and insightful. He argues that great interdisciplinary work doesn't come from having a poet and chemist study electrons or having a physicist and a painter produce a painting. Rather, the best interdisciplinary work comes when the different disciplines work together to perform the tasks to which they are best suited. And the scientific task to which the humanities are best suited is to help scientists ask the right questions.
As Toadvine rightly points out, "If our typical way of framing environmental problems privileges the kinds of 'solutions' that empirical approaches will provide, it does so precisely by occluding other ways of framing the problems, say, in terms of justice or value or freedom or self-identity." The humanities, then, provide us with the opportunity to ask the meta-level questions, the questions about our questions. How do the questions we ask prevent us from getting comprehensive answers to the problems we perceive? Or better stated: what other questions should we be asking to ensure that we do not overlook essential pieces of information?
At present, the humanities are coming under ever more intense pressure to justify their continued existence (read: funding). No cellist is going to produce a cure for cancer, and no novelist is going to invent a cheaper form of space travel. But critical training in the humanities provides a check against the type of inane question-asking that continues to guide the curiosity of eugenicists* even in our own time.
*This is fairly reprehensible. The comments are particularly ugly.