— Maxim, first question — why did you choose biology? What sparked your interest in it?
— I usually say that it was destiny (laughs). I've been fascinated by it for as long as I can remember, so I never really questioned why exactly.

— Perhaps you learned something in school that made you think, "Wow, this is cool!" For example, I once found an encyclopedia about biology, specifically plants, in a ditch, and it became a passion for the next ten years.
—You're right, it all started with an encyclopedia. At first it was the 2nd edition of the Great Soviet Encyclopedia, the one from the Stalin-Khrushchev era. It was filled with all sorts of information and pictures, and most likely that's where my interest stemmed from, but it's hard to say for sure looking back now.

— What grades did you get in biology at school?
— I always had an A (5) because I was always fascinated by biology and never had any issues with the subject.

— Did your teacher ever single you out?
— Yes. I was fortunate in that regard. I had a wonderful biology teacher, a graduate of the then Leningrad State University, who always supported me and indeed singled me out. She had high hopes for me. She wanted me to become a geneticist or someone even more dignified. Although, life decided otherwise. But yeah, she did single me out. Fortunately, in school, I never really had to deal with any young naturalist stations or similar institutions, because later when I did, I realized that my interest in biology would probably have been squashed by classes on planting or rabbits. So, I essentially did everything on my own and figured things out by myself.

— Why did you choose systematics?
— I've always been drawn to the idea of classifying organisms and the ability to neatly categorize all that diversity. To give each creature a name, as they say. I suppose it has to do with one's mindset because in a lot of ways, systematics is not just a scientific profession but also a calling. An inherent ability to view the world rationally, where everything is clear and unambiguous and has a name — that's our ideal. It's an ideal that is yet to be achieved, even though people have been striving for it for over 2,000 years. And in fact, systematics is, in my opinion, a somewhat esoteric science because it requires a special inclination to practice it.

— Where does systematics stand in relation to other life sciences?
— Today, systematics is part of a broader scientific program that we conventionally refer to as "describing biological diversity". It includes various aspects of evolution, ecology, and biogeography. On one hand, it is undoubtedly one of the most fundamental biological sciences because any biological study always begins with identifying an organism. Even if it is the well-known fruit fly, Drosophila melanogaster, or a white mouse, or the roundworm Caenorhabditis elegans. Whatever it is, all these organisms have a scientific Latin name. They all occupy a certain place in the overall taxonomic picture of the world, and therefore a biologist's work always begins with determining what kind of organism it is and to which species it belongs.
On the other hand, systematics is often perceived as an archaic, outdated field of science overshadowed by more advanced disciplines like molecular genetics and biotechnology. And many biologists, especially beginners, see systematics as a relic of the past because some of its features have not changed for centuries.
Therefore, unfortunately, current literature is filled with complaints that systematics as a discipline is undervalued and underfunded. And this is a global trend, not just a Russian one. So on one hand, systematics is the foundation of all foundations, and on the other hand, as one author put it, it became the "Cinderella of biology" because it is underestimated and unloved, which gives some systematists a kind of inferiority complex.
And it's also very important that systematics is probably the only biological science where non-professional scientists — amateurs — still play a significant role. These people may not even have a biology degree. They could be physicians or engineers. There was even a world-renowned Swiss insect systematist who worked as a rural postman and in his spare time classified, if I'm not mistaken, water bugs.
From the academic community's perspective, this is often seen somewhat condescendingly, as if taxonomy or systematics is still a place where one can be an amateur doing something in their own kitchen, so to speak. This is another characteristic that is often perceived as a sign of backwardness and archaicness. So, things are quite complicated.

— Is this attitude towards systematics prevalent specifically in biological circles?
— Yes, of course. A very interesting metamorphosis has occurred in the history of systematics. Modern systematics, both botanical and zoological, traces its roots to the middle of the 18th century and the great Carl Linnaeus. Of course, there were systematists before Linnaeus, but he laid the foundation for the scientific classification and naming of organisms that we still use today. In the mid-18th century, Linnaeus was one of the greatest and most famous scientists in Europe. His fame is comparable to that of Stephen Hawking today. But why? Because systematics was held in much higher regard back then. Linnaeus was close to the Swedish royal family and was known throughout Europe. It was a hundred years later, when experimental areas of biology such as physiology, developmental biology, and later genetics emerged, that systematics began to look like the "Cinderella" who still lives by primitive methods and doesn't use any experimental approaches. And already in Darwin's era, there began an outflow of bright minds, staff, money, and jobs from the field of systematics to these new, advanced fields of biology.
And so, at the beginning of the 20th century, systematics completely lost all prestige among biologists. It began to be ignored and considered an occupation for obsolete museum entomologists. If you remember, there was a Jules Verne novel called Dick Sand, A Captain at Fifteen. There is a wonderful character in it named Cousin Benedict, a very positive person and a kind of eccentric good uncle. Well, this is a caricature of systematics. Cousin Benedict saw nothing but his insects, and Jules Verne in this work reflected the popular culture's perception of systematics. This image largely remained the same into the 20th century. Only at the turn of the 21st century did the situation start to dramatically shift.

— What happened exactly?
— About a century ago, systematists started to seriously ponder what to do next. The solution they arrived at was that Linnaeus and his numerous followers classified organisms on what I would call an intuitive basis. Meaning, if you look at Linnaeus's work, he never explicitly states why he distinguishes one species from another. Why? Because traditionally, the entire classification process relied on personal knowledge, where an individual, after extensive work with their subjects, begins to comprehend, sometimes subconsciously, how to categorize them. However, while doing this, they often can't even justify to themselves why they choose one method over another. Linnaeus is known for saying that it's not the characters that defines the genus, but the genus that defines the characters. But what does that mean? It means that a systematist first categorizes, in this case plants, into genera and then starts figuring out how to differentiate these genera from one another.
During Linnaeus' time, in the mid-18th century, this was accepted, but by the late 19th and early 20th centuries, it was considered entirely outdated. New fields of study such as atomic physics, chemistry, and experimental biology began to emerge. Rutherford once casually remarked that all science is either physics or stamp collecting. So, at the beginning of the 20th century, systematists in Russia and other countries started contemplating what to do about this, and they found a simple solution: let's emulate physicists and apply the most precise methods of inquiry possible, making extensive use of mathematics and experimental approaches.
This trend was just starting to be recognized at the beginning of the 20th century, but it only grew stronger as systematics continued to develop. By the end of the 20th century, we had reached what is known as the molecular revolution in systematics. Here is what happened: using molecular genetics techniques, scientists became able to use not just morphological traits but primarily genetic traits for classification. In other words, it became possible to decode the primary nucleotide sequence of DNA and compare the sequences of identical genes in different organisms. Now, with statistical methods, we can objectively quantify the degree of similarity and difference between species. As many argue, this has led to the elimination of all intuitiveness, achieving a "physicalist" ideal of knowledge based on precision, repeatability, and verifiability.

— So, can we now call systematics a hard science?
— It certainly aspires to be exact science, but I must honestly tell you that intuition, which everyone hates so much, still plays a significant role. In other words, systematics is one of the few biological sciences where it is debated whether it is an art or an exact science. And, in my subjective opinion, it will never achieve absolute precision. Let me explain why. The most obvious example is fossils. Biological systematics doesn't just deal with currently living organisms — it also includes all extinct ones, and we have a big problem with extinct ones because in most cases genetic information on them isn't available. And that's just the tip of an iceberg. We can only study what is preserved in the fossil record, and by that I mean hard tissues such as bones, teeth, shells, and occasionally imprints. Everything else simply disappears. So a systematic paleontologist will always rely on interpretations that are more or less reliable. This is a layer of systematics where, unfortunately, the precision we all desire has not yet been achieved and likely never will be.

— There is a lot of talk right now about the era of the sixth mass extinction. Could systematics become a sort of superhero that saves everyone?
— Let's talk about extinction first. Paleontologists have identified five mass extinctions in Earth's history, with the most severe occurring at the boundary of the Permian and Triassic periods, when, according to various estimates, up to 90% of species went extinct. But when we discuss these impressive figures, we must understand that this extinction lasted several million years, so there was no sudden apocalypse as is sometimes depicted in popular science. Back then, species gradually went extinct. But this sixth extinction, which is much talked about now, is characterized by its rapid pace. What we saw happening over millions of years in the past is now happening over hundreds of years, meaning the rate of extinction (though thankfully we're not yet talking about a 90% extinction) is several orders of magnitude higher than in the geological past.
Naturally, to stop this, we need to understand who, where, and how we should save, so to speak. And without primary information, this is impossible. So systematics plays a fundamental role here, as it is tasked with describing biological diversity.
If we don't fulfill these conditions — if we don't describe, name, and classify living beings — it will be unclear who or what needs to be protected and where. If you open any list of endangered species, you will see that all the essays about animals start with their taxonomic classification. To illustrate my point, let me tell you a wonderful story about giraffes. We were all taught that there was only one species of giraffe in Africa. But then it was discovered that what was thought to be one species is actually four different species of giraffe that don't interbreed with each other. When geneticists made this discovery, there was an initial uproar from traditional systematists. But then morphological and other features were found that allow these species to be distinguished, which is important because, as it turns out, not all giraffes are the same, and therefore, for the purpose of preserving the biodiversity of large African ungulates, we can't do without systematics.
But giraffes, rhinos, and gorillas are one thing. These animals are known as charismatic megafauna in our line of work. They are well-known. Everyone knows they are endangered and need to be protected, and a lot of money is being invested in it. But everyone forgets that 95% of animal species are invertebrates that no one sees or hears.
There are serious concerns that most of the species currently going extinct are not known to science at all. This is referred to as a "silent extinction". When we calculate the rate of extinction today and compare it with past extinctions, we forget that a large proportion of species remain undescribed. But why is it that way? To a large extent, it's because people are naturally drawn to objects that are more attractive or important to them. Take parasites, for example. Parasites of humans, domestic animals, and cultivated plants are well described, but parasites of wild animals are much less known. And it's simply because there is no one to study them — there aren't enough professionals who would dedicate their lives to describing, say, nematodes that parasitize tropical frogs. So we can say that the rate of the sixth extinction is actually underestimated, simply because we're not accounting for the huge number of undescribed species.

— Can we then say that we have a general idea of how many species of living organisms there are on Earth?
— There are statistical methods and extrapolation approaches to do this, when, using data on the gradual description of species in a certain group, one can make a prediction about how many remain to be discovered. Of course, this is an estimate only, and it has a probability. But like any practical scientific prediction, it has more or less credible scenarios. Systematics provides knowledge that is constantly being refined. There are some things that I believe will never change. For example, the fact that humans are part of the Primates order, and primates are part of the Mammalia class. And there are many such cases. On another note, there are certain animal groups that are still not sufficiently understood, and they are the subject of much debate. However, this is to be expected as new technologies are being developed that can address at least some of these uncertainties.

— In terms of recent developments, what significant events have taken place in your field over the last decade?
— As we've already discussed, it's primarily the widespread adoption of new technologies to tackle traditional taxonomic challenges, from molecular methods and computer image analysis techniques to the potential application of artificial intelligence. I recently got a letter from a colleague in Germany who is extremely enthusiastic and hopeful that once AI methods for organism classification are developed, everything will fall into place, and the task of fauna description will be resolved automatically and quite objectively. To be honest, I'm somewhat skeptical about this, given my knowledge of the history of systematics. Any scientific method is merely a working device, with its results being interpreted by people. Even if we apply the most advanced artificial intelligence methods, there will always be a role for human intellect. However, the trend is that as we progress, more and more tasks are being delegated to computers. Nevertheless, the beauty of systematics lies in the fact that it doesn't have an oppressive controlling body dictating everyone to act in a strictly defined manner. In other words, if you have access to a next-generation sequencer and can read and compare entire genomes, your contribution to systematics is just as valuable as that of a hobbyist who classifies bugs based on morphological traits in their kitchen. In our field of science, we still see a coexistence of both traditional and high-tech methods.
And that's likely a good thing. As Mao Zedong once said, "Let a hundred flowers bloom!"

— So, you're not very optimistic about entrusting systematics entirely to artificial intelligence.
— On one hand, I understand that this is an inevitable trend. If this method is properly developed, it will provide new information that will need to be utilized somehow. What worries me is what I would call the dehumanization of systematics, when traditional knowledge about animals is replaced by computer software or purely genetic exercises. This leads to people losing their direct knowledge about animals, reducing it to DNA sequences or mathematical models. From a philosophical standpoint, this seems wrong somehow. We lose our holistic view of the world and our understanding of the animal as such, reducing it to a set of diagnostic or pseudo-diagnostic traits. From a humanistic perspective, I'm not very fond of this trend either, although I fully acknowledge its necessity and understand why it's happening. This is yet another part of systematics' struggle for recognition, another phase in its evolution into a true exact science.
The only problem is that this trend could potentially lead to the demise of systematics as we know it. To prevent this, it needs to become an integral part of the broader field of biodiversity science. In this case, it might have a chance of survival.

— Are there any unanswered questions that you personally are interested in?
— The entire work of a systematist boils down to answering three big questions. How many species exist on Earth? How should they be classified? And what should they be called? Each of us is working with a tiny piece of this great puzzle. Imagine a massive mosaic made up of individual stones, with each systematist probably striving for perfection within their own specific area.
But we are well aware that in 50 or even 25 years methodologies will change, perspectives will shift, and our current system of ogranisms will become outdated. So, a systematist is someone who works for the future while understanding that their contribution won't revolutionize the biological picture of the world. It's like in medieval Europe where the construction of a Gothic cathedral could take 100, 150, or even 200 years. A systematist is like a mason who, while laying the foundation of a cathedral, realizes that they will never see the finished edifice, but they still contribute to the collective human knowledge.
In our field, published work never becomes obsolete. If you've done a truly good job, it will exist for as long as there is a need for classification, if not for as long as humanity exists.
The words you've said won't disappear or be forgotten. Even if you were mistaken, your opinion will still be revisited and discussed. Moreover, if you describe a new species, you as the author retain the priority forever. To some extent, this is actually a problem, as it fosters a somewhat vain pursuit of immortality. That is, to discover a new species, name it, and see your name in the list of taxa. On one hand, it's an incentive, but on the other hand, unfortunately, it leads to systematists sometimes describing species without sufficient thought or evidence. It's a human weakness. And while it's certainly regrettable, it's probably forgivable. Although, of course, in some cases this creates serious difficulties.

— Do you have a favorite "piece of the puzzle"?
— Since my PhD thesis, I've mainly been studying one family of freshwater mollusks — the so-called pond snails (Lymnaeidae) that everyone learns about in school — and I still can't figure them out completely. I started with describing the Lymnaeidae fauna of one large city. I'm currently working on a global scale, but there seems to be no end in sight.
Additionally, these snails of mine are currently being studied as part of a large-scale project supported by a grant from the Russian Science Foundation, dedicated to the origin and evolution of the Arctic's freshwater biota. Studying pond snails allows us to understand past processes, such as the migration of freshwater animals across the land bridge that existed in the Pleistocene where the Bering Strait is now. This is a perfect example of when the results of a systematist's work begin to "work" in another context, aiding in solving problems related to evolution, biogeography, and paleoecology.

— So, your life's work — pond snails — came into your life by chance?
— It just so happened that I was given them as a thesis topic, and then, as I delved deeper, I realized there was still so much more to do. And the deeper you dig, the more questions arise.

— Let's move away from pond snails and talk about biodiversity at large. Could it happen that one day we will have described all species, and systematics as science will "end"?
— Theoretically, an end is probably possible. But if we rely on current biodiversity estimates, I can't say when that end will come. Moreover, as we've already discussed, each new generation gets a new scientific toolkit, and therefore, much of this work essentially starts over. So I believe that as long as humanity exists, systematics, to some extent, will not end. It might cease to exist as a field of biology, like pinning butterflies, but as a scientific task, I believe it will persist.
It's no coincidence that Charles Darwin titled his work On the Origin of Species and not merely Evolution, because species is the fundamental unit that everyone works with, and only systematists know what a species is and how to distinguish and name them. Therefore, in a broader philosophical sense, I believe that systematics has no end, just like astronomy, nuclear physics, and other sciences.

— Then how will systematics evolve in the future, and what challenges will it face?
— The main challenges are tied to systematics' self-identification as a science that constantly has to prove its right to exist. A practicing systematist often feels treated as someone engaged in a secondary activity. Currently, there is a weak inflow of young systematists. Few people can or want to dedicate their lives to this not-so-rewarding task. Only someone for whom systematics is truly a calling and not just a means to make an academic career can do this. Therefore, systematics, like sublime poetry, will always remain the domain of a select few. In a pessimistic scenario, systematics will cease to exist as an independent biological discipline, instead becoming akin to philately, with classification entirely entrusted to artificial intelligence. The optimistic scenario sees systematics enduring, thriving, evolving, advancing, and maintaining its rightful position among other scientific disciplines.
I refrain from discussing technological progress, as it was utterly impossible to foresee our current lifestyle 20–30 years ago. Here is a small illustration. Three decades ago, genuine systematics could only be pursued in 10–12 cities worldwide that housed good libraries. Today, thanks to online libraries, we obtain 90% of the necessary literature without leaving our homes. This represents a remarkable shift in the trajectory of systematics. Information has ceased to be the privilege of the select few. I think that in 50 years, systematics will be entirely cybernetic and transition online into databases that can be updated in real time. Any taxonomic information, no matter how detailed, will be accessible to anyone with just a single keystroke. And certainly, I believe that the methods for artificial identification of objects, if not classification, will be highly advanced. Overall, systematics will fully leverage the advancements of scientific and technological progress, though I can't predict which ones specifically. Futurology is notorious as a field with the highest number of unfulfilled predictions.

— Do you have any big dreams?
— You see, when it comes to entering the field of science, big dreams are usually quite vague. However, once a person begins conducting research, they start to understand what exactly needs to be accomplished. Their perspective shifts, and they start setting new goals for themselves, which are often quite specific.
I never had a big dream like saving humanity from whatever global peril. I've just always been fascinated by systematics and wanted to pursue it professionally, dedicating my life to it. In the end, I managed to do it, though it wasn't fast or easy. Then again, a life's journey is never a bed of roses. My big dream was perhaps to participate in the monumental task of describing biodiversity, making my modest contribution and feeling valued. Indeed, when I'm consulted by the International Union for Conservation of Nature or a nature reserve, I understand that I'm probably needed and that my work with snails isn't just for my own enjoyment — it is also a socially beneficial activity that perhaps no one else can do. Scientists are just like everyone else. We too crave compliments and recognition for our achievements. And it's not just about how many times you've been cited but also about feeling valued as a professional, as an expert. Even if it's in a very small, very specific field, it's still very important and honorable.

— So even the volcano couldn't affect it.
— Exactly! The pollen grains were simply entombed beneath a layer of volcanic ash. It was a beautiful study, but sadly, the palynologists couldn't answer the main research question. During the eruption, a single mixture of flowering plant pollen, ash, and other particles, including pollen that had been re-suspended in the air, filled the atmosphere. In their final hours, people inhaled this mixture. The resulting spectrum was all-season, making it impossible to definitively determine whether it was August or October when the catastrophe happened. Interestingly, children were found to have high concentrations of ivy pollen in their noses, a plant that blooms in the fall. This seemed like direct evidence! However, researchers didn't find the same concentration in the spectrum from the male skull. In the end, they concluded that the inhabitants of Pompeii likely used ivy as a medicinal plant, possibly as a remedy for children's runny noses. However, the design of the study was indeed very elegant.

— Let's now discuss the Allergotop website. How did it all start? Did you receive a request from your colleagues?
— We've spent a long time monitoring atmospheric pollen from a scientific perspective. For the first decade, we didn't analyze samples daily, which was the wrong thing to do. However, we were still gradually accumulating data and filling in the gaps. Eventually, doctors and pharmaceutical company representatives approached us with offers to fund our work. The first company to do so was Nycomed. They contributed greatly to the development of aerobiological monitoring in Russia, including purchasing the first ten traps, importing them into the country, and organizing staff training. For a while, pollen monitoring data was published on the Nycomed website. Later, Takeda took over this role in the monitoring structure. However, not long ago, Dmitry Akhaev, Deputy Dean for Financial Policy and Innovations at the Faculty of Biology of Moscow State University, decided to establish a company that would bring together biologists and physicians. I am now part of that company.

— Do you know how many users Allergotop has at the moment?
— I can't give you an exact number. After all, I merely provide data for the website, my role is different... I can say it probably has at least several tens of thousands of users.

— It's always gratifying to know that your work is in demand.
— It is, especially when monitoring became a daily task and people started regularly visiting the website, sending emails, and asking questions like, "What should I do? Where should I go? What do you think?" At that point, it became clear that my work was urgently needed. I don't think a lot of scientists get to feel that. And it's incredibly gratifying. You're not just studying third-row bristles on some creature's twenty-fifth leg! You're studying something that people need right now. This has certainly been a great motivator for me in recent years.

— Is it invigorating?
— Absolutely! Every year, people ask questions that are not always easy to answer. Sometimes I have to do some additional monitoring, check foreign websites, or write to my colleagues. In short, it's not always easy and sometimes requires additional work. I try to give the most accurate answers possible because people are asking these questions out of necessity, not just out of curiosity. Even faculty members who suffer from pollinosis sometimes come and ask, "What do you think will happen tomorrow?" or "Where should I go and when?"

— By the way, what's the pollen situation like in Moscow?
— Based on our 30-year observations, the pollen season in Moscow extends by one day each year, and the intensity of pollen dispersion increases annually. The total pollen production increases by 7.7% each year. This is unfortunate news for those with allergies.

— As a palynologist, what would you suggest planting in the city to make life easier for allergy sufferers?
— That's a very good and relevant question. When they planted birch trees in Zaryadye Park and created a beautiful grove behind the GES-2, I nearly shed a tear at the thought there might be birch allergy sufferers in the House on the Embankment! Yes, birch trees are beautiful! It's a beautiful symbol of our country as well. But this is absolutely wrong in terms of allergies. In fact, in many countries with strong patient communities, there is a fight against such mindless landscape gardening. Which plants are more suitable? Primarily those that are not pollinated by the wind. Because it's the pollen from wind-pollinated plants that floats in the air and causes pollinosis. All plants whose pollen is not carried by the wind will be beneficial for people suffering from allergies. For example, rowan, which pollen is almost never found in the air. Or horse chestnuts. Or even linden trees! Although linden pollen is regularly found in the spectrum, its quantity is insignificant compared to birch or alder pollen.

— I hope one day the needs of highly allergic individuals will be taken into account. Finally, I'd like to ask if you have any grand scientific dreams.
— Speaking about aerobiology — the field closest to me — I'd love for our Moscow station not to be the only one out there. I dream of a network connected by a unified research methodology and similar, comparable equipment. It would be great if traps were installed in all cities with a population of over a million, as urban residents suffer the most from allergies. And I hope that the funding for this network comes not from private donations or scientific grants but from a state support program. That, I suppose, is my dream.