ether he is to be entered in the list as alive, he
writes him in and goes his way.

And thus will the two thousand young men proceed. This is not as it
should be.

Science does its work, and the community, summoned in the persons of
these two thousand young men to aid science, must do its work. A
statistician drawing his deductions from figures may feel indifferent
towards people, but we census-takers, who see these people and who have
no scientific prepossessions, cannot conduct ourselves towards them in an
inhuman manner. Science fulfils its task, and its work is for its
objects and in the distant future, both useful and necessary to us. For
men of science, we can calmly say, that in 1882 there were so many
beggars, so many prostitutes, and so many uncared-for children. Science
may say this with composure and with pride, because it knows that the
confirmation of this fact conduces to the elucidation of the laws of
sociology, and that the elucidation of the laws of sociology leads to a
better constitution of society. But what if we, the unscientific people,
say: "You are perishing in vice, you are dying of hunger, you are pining
away, and killing each other; so do not grieve about this; when you shall
have all perished, and hundreds of thousands more like you, then,
possibly, science may be able to arrange everything in an excellent
manner." For men of science, the census has its interest; and for us
also, it possesses an interest of a wholly different significance. The
interest and significance of the census for the community lie in this,
that it furnishes it with a mirror into which, willy nilly, the whole
community, and each one of us, gaze.

The figures and deductions will be the mirror. It is possible to refrain
from reading them, as it is possible to turn away from the looking-glass.
It is possible to glance cursorily at both figures and mirror, and it is
also possible to scrutinize them narrowly. To go about in connection
with the census as thousands of people are now about to do, is to
scrutinize one's self closely in the mirror.

What does this census, that is about to be made, mean for us people of
Moscow, who are not men of science? It means two things. In the first
place, this, that we may learn with certainty, that among us tens of
thousands who live in ease, there dwell tens of thousands of people who
lack bread, clothing and shelter; in the second place, this, that our
brothers and sons w