Reorganization, Censorship, and the Odessa Socratics in the Age of AI. An Interview with Professor Inna Golubovich

The Faculty of Philosophy at Odessa National University named after I. I. Mechnikov ceased to exist as a separate department ten years ago. Now, yet another reorganization of the university is putting an end to the history of a team that has spent decades developing philosophy education in Odesa. Where can we now find local Socrates and Diogenes in our city? In a candid interview, Inna Golubovich, Ph.D. in Philosophy and head of the Department of Philosophy, discusses the upcoming reorganization of the university, the inevitable farewell to the old buildings on Novoselsky Street, and the phenomenon of Odessa’s underground philosophy circles.

Why do transnational corporations and IT giants need philosophy graduates in the age of neural networks? Why are modern bankers looking for talent in the humanities departments rather than in economics? The scholar explains how the 21st century is steering philosophical education toward Big Data, what censorship restrictions science faces in Odesa compared to Kyiv, and why philosophy is now successfully finding its place in galleries, museums, and big business.

What is the philosophy of Odesa like?

The philosophy of Odesa can be understood in two ways. On the one hand, it is the city itself, with its unique way of life, myths, legends, and images that have no direct connection to professional philosophers. It is a phenomenon that exists in the public consciousness much like the “philosophy of fashion” or the “philosophy of sports.”

On the other hand, it is a specific community of people who have dedicated their lives—or part of them—to this profession. Here, I can speak from my own vantage point, specifically as the chair of the Odessa Philosophical Society at the House of Scientists. The Society is a continuation of the work begun in those days when science truly thrived at the House of Scientists. Unfortunately, it is currently on hold (Russia launched a devastating missile strike on the historic center of Odesa, which severely damaged the House of Scientists on the night of July 23, 2023—Ed.).

Nevertheless, the philosophy of Odesa lives on through spontaneous projects. For example, an educational philosophy project called “Doctrina Solis” is currently being developed with Olena Konovalenko, one of our alumni, whose profession has absolutely nothing to do with philosophy, but who cannot breathe without it. 

There are also underground, marginal philosophical circles. My personal regret is that for a long time I missed out on engaging with young philosophy. But now, Katya Chala and I are determined to launch a project to revive this vibrant voice (Kateryna Chala—curator and mother of the late 21-year-old RDK fighter Tymofii Anufriiev, son of artist and philosopher Serhii Anufriiev —Ed.).

Back in the era of Avenir Uyomov, representatives of all disciplines—engineers, economists, chemists, mathematicians, and philologists—would flock to philosophers. Today, that Brownian motion is gone, but the need for it hasn’t disappeared.

At one time, an entire philosophy department was established. There was a lot of criticism and accusations of amateurism, but now we understand that it was a golden age. For various reasons—which have not yet been fully understood—this department has shrunk like shagreen leather. Today we are a small department of seven people. We’re like the tin soldiers of philosophy.

Who in Odessa today isn’t just teaching, but is actually philosophizing?

A systematic seminar continues to meet, carrying on the traditions of Avenir Uyomov and Arnold Zofnas. They work in a small circle, seeking no publicity, because public philosophy often undermines the very essence of philosophizing.

Our professor, Serhiy Shevtsov, has focused in recent years on the metaphysics and ontology of violence. In addition, together with graduate student Vasyl Matskiv (who went to the front from the very first days of the full-scale war and is now serving as an artilleryman), he has prepared a translation of an important work on contemporary Western Platonic studies.

Konstantin Reichert maintains his epistemological niche, focusing on the grammar of logic.

Serhiy Sekundant is the strongest pillar of our department. With one foot, he stands in pre-Kantian German philosophy, researching Leibniz’s philosophical legacy, and with the other—in Eastern philosophy. Recently, together with Professor Christoph Lumer (Germany-Italy), he prepared a Ukrainian translation of an anthology of seminal contemporary works on the theory of argumentation.

As for me, a small community of researchers has now formed in Ukraine that focuses on the philosophy of biography, the biographical approach, and the ontology of biography.

We once had vibrant philosophical schools that were the talk of the town, with meetings of the “Odesa Humanities Tradition” and our hermeneutic seminar. One of its key participants, Professor Oleksiy Rodzhero, has stepped back from the public eye, focused on his inner work, and now communicates only within a very small circle of colleagues. At the same time, he has begun publishing more frequently in our journal *Doxa*. Oleksiy Mykolayovych has published articles that hadn’t appeared for thirty years, and a few years ago his book *Approaching Plato* was released—first in Russian, then in Ukrainian translation.

Here, I cannot fail to mention Nelly Ivanova-Georgievskaya. In her honor, we established an annual all-Ukrainian competition for research papers by young scholars (ranging from undergraduate students to experienced researchers up to age 35). This is a unique project for Ukraine. The competition is held in the fields that Nelly developed: phenomenology, hermeneutics, the philosophy of dance, and the philosophy of laughter.

I must also mention Andriy Khudenko—a profound philosopher of the highest caliber who shuns the limelight. He has taken on the leadership of the Department of Philosophy and Humanities at the conservatory. His guiding principle is a deep immersion in primary sources, with a daily practice of reading Heraclitus, Plato, and Heidegger in both the original and in translation. At the same time, he has an excellent grasp of the latest trends in philosophy. Andriy does not engage in self-promotion. You won’t see him at public events, but he is remarkable.

I would also like to introduce the international English-language online philosophy seminar “Post Scriptum,” created by our department in collaboration with the aforementioned Professor Christoph Lumer (University of Siena), one of the leading figures in analytical philosophy, which is extremely popular today. The speakers at our seminar are often stars of the global philosophy scene. Recent sessions have focused on logic, the theory of argumentation, the philosophy of mind, and neurophilosophy. International and Ukrainian luminaries in philosophy meet with our undergraduate and graduate students, who can ask questions and participate in discussions. This is a unique platform for Ukraine; it is no coincidence that the Institute of Philosophy of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine has joined us. 

Let’s return to the situation with the philosophy department. How will it be dissolved?

In fact, the Philosophy Department has not existed for ten years. The two departments—Philosophy and Cultural Studies—that were part of the Philosophy Department were then incorporated into the History Department, which became the Department of History and Philosophy. 

The most recent reorganization involved the dissolution of the Faculty of History and Philosophy. Historians were incorporated into the Faculty of Philology, while the departments of philosophy and cultural studies were incorporated into the Faculty of International Relations, Political Science, and Sociology. The former Faculty of Journalism, Advertising, and Publishing was also merged into this new faculty. 

Now the name of our department has changed to Philosophy and Methodology of Science. And the name of our new faculty will be slightly different—the Faculty of International Relations, Media, and Social and Political Sciences. 

I should note that ten years ago, when the closure of the Faculty of Philosophy became inevitable, we wanted to merge specifically with this unit (then known as the Institute of Social Sciences). Now it has happened, but the word “philosophy” has been lost from the faculty’s name. 

Why has everything been scaled back?

First, attitudes and orientations outside the university walls have changed. The status of not just philosophy, but intellectual and spiritual culture in general, has declined worldwide. This is a global civilizational trend.

Back in the day, applicants flocked to our philosophy department in droves. I’m still friends with one of the graduates from those years. He left philosophy for business and moved to Tibet. Later, he called me: “Inna Vladimirovna, I’ve become a wealthy man. What should I do now: return to the philosophy department or stay with the lamas?” In the end, he chose the lamas.

Second, demographic problems arose, and as the war drew nearer, organizational ones as well.

Our first major reorganization took place, if my memory serves me correctly, in 2016. The number of applicants had fallen so much that the objective threshold for the existence of a separate faculty—at least 200 students—could no longer be met. We did everything possible to somehow justify, both legally and academically, the need to preserve the faculty. We tried to restructure it into an educational and research institute. We were unsuccessful.

Then the question of a merger arose. We were offered to merge with the History Department. We assembled a delegation—Olena Sobolevska, Eduard Martynyuk, and Serhiy Sekundant—and went to see the then-rector, Ihor Koval. We said bluntly: “We won’t merge with the historians. If you want to merge us with someone, go back to the old idea of the Institute of Social Sciences.”

For various reasons, this didn’t happen. At the time, Igor Mykolayovych presented arguments that we now, in all honesty, view as tactical justifications rather than strategic decisions. He explained this in bureaucratic terms: supposedly, it’s not possible to merge disciplines from different fields (the humanities and the social sciences). Although later on, even more surprising mergers took place at the university.

As a result, we found ourselves in this predicament. To be honest, we were unable to form a single team with the historians for many internal reasons. But in purely factual terms, the situation is simple: the faculty stopped enrolling the coveted 200 students. There’s no ill will on anyone’s part here. Both the current rector, Vyacheslav Truba, and Igor Mykolayovych did everything they could during their respective tenures. They kept the department going as best they could, because no one wanted to take on the role of “executioner.”

We will be forced to leave the premises on Novoselsky Street. No one is going to kick us out tomorrow on the spot, but that’s the direction things are heading.

I sincerely regret that in the final stages of the department’s existence, we were unable to harmoniously forge a union between philosophy and cultural studies. Then again, Odessa’s cultural studies were born precisely out of the spirit of philosophy. When it was a single space, the meanings flowed into one another. Perhaps professional cultural studies suffered strategically from this in some ways, but there wasn’t much difference in the teaching. The city’s finest people came to us: theater and museum directors. They gave lectures to both philosophers and cultural studies scholars. Now we’ve done everything possible to recall our shared roots and stay united. Time will tell what the outcome will be—this matter will be settled very soon.

You headed the state examination commission for bachelor’s degree candidates in philosophy at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. Do you feel that philosophy is better institutionally protected in Kyiv?

Without a doubt, philosophy in the capital is far better supported. Given my academic interests, I hold the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy in very high regard. The faculty there is top-notch: visiting professors from Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv and staff from the Institute of Philosophy of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine. The thesis topics there are excellent, innovative, and bold.

But there’s one aspect where Odesa came out on top. In Kyiv, students have been studying exclusively online all these years. Many of them have never even seen each other in person. Here, thanks to the leadership of Odesa National University, despite the “I don’t want to” and “I can’t” excuses, faculty and students were required to attend in-person classes. Sure, there were times when someone had a cold or a siren went off, and there were attempts to sneak onto Zoom. But we spent an enormous amount of time interacting in person. And this has had a massive impact on the quality of our education and on building a sense of community. The average level of our graduates is certainly no worse than that of Kyiv’s. Access to academic literature is now equally open to everyone.

That said, I’ve noticed one strange disparity between Kyiv and Odesa regarding the most pressing issue today—the use of sources. Here in Odesa, it’s now strictly forbidden to cite Russian-language literature. We even have to obtain special permission to use the older works of Avenir Uyomov. The censorship is strict: if a Russian-language source is found in a thesis, the paper may simply be rejected.

When I told my colleagues in Kyiv about this, they were genuinely surprised. One highly respected professor said to me, “Inna Volodymyrivna, don’t say that—it can’t be true; it’s not true.” But for us, it is true. Perhaps in Odesa, regional self-censorship is at work, based on the principles of “just in case” and “let’s not ruffle any feathers.”

In Kyiv, however, students work freely with Russian-language sources, academic translations, and even books published in Moscow, if it’s absolutely necessary to explore a topic (for example, in translations of Western classics). Now, having observed this experience, I at least understand the academic mechanism for properly protecting our students if they need a specific text.

Where can one go in Ukraine today with a 2026-model philosophy degree?

I’ll start with something I recently witnessed myself at the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. During her thesis defense, one of the master’s students presented a thesis at the intersection of philosophy and Big Data. The author had a background in IT, which is quite common these days. A lively discussion ensued around the presentation. The graduate cited global statistics: today, the largest multinational corporations are actively hiring philosophy graduates.

The motivation is simple: modern generative neural networks have completely replaced routine mid-level staff. Artificial intelligence has taken over all the technical work, coding, and compilation. But AI is incapable of generating breakthrough, out-of-the-box ideas. A severe shortage of creative and conceptual thinking has emerged, and philosophers have become highly sought after in the job market. The 21st century is shifting the field toward technology and big data analysis.

But for this to happen, philosophy education must be completely overhauled. We need an interdisciplinary alliance of departments. Our students are eager for this, but the old system cannot provide it yet; we are still constrained by the framework of the Ukrainian “specialization passport,” approved back in 1999–2001. That’s archaic! Although even our old curriculum officially lists qualifications such as “assistant to the head of an organization” and “expert in the field of television and radio broadcasting.”

Before we launched our full-scale initiative, a unique alliance formed here in Odesa with Mykola Latushkin, a business integrator who represented the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy’s MBA programs here. Through our mutual friend, the Kharkiv philosopher Oleksandr Filonenko (whom top Ukrainian managers adored and invited to training sessions to give lectures on Dante), Latushkin and I developed a unique interdisciplinary program called “Philosophy and Business.”

We were sitting across from the deputy director of a major Ukrainian bank, and she told us in no uncertain terms: “We are sorely lacking people with unconventional thinking. Everyone who comes to us with a specialized education in economics thinks narrowly, in a formulaic, conventional way. We need philosophers.” My jaw dropped. The program was meant to combine economics, law, and philosophy. But the bureaucratic machinery of the Ministry of Education—which is often staffed by system killers—and then the war put this project on hold.

Nevertheless, our graduates are finding their place in the cultural sphere. For a long time, our philosophy team worked at the Odessa Museum of Western and Eastern Art: Katya Mikheytseva (my dissertation student), Nastya Frolkova, and Katya Galibey. They left later, but right now our first-year master’s students have found positions at the Art Museum, and they are now being involved in research activities. During a class discussion on Nietzsche, I told them: “Please, demonstrate the will to exercise philosophical authority over culture!”

When my acquaintances say, “Your graduates are either painting, working in museums, or going into journalism—so it seems they’re not working in their field?” I reply, “No!” From the very beginning, our department was founded on the broadest possible agenda. This isn’t a forced departure from one’s field of study. This is, in fact, its true, modern sphere of application.

What can you say about graduates who have built high-profile careers outside the academic world?

The first is Anatoliy Dymchuk, a gallery owner well-known in Ukraine, a collector of nonconformist art, and a major businessman. He came to the philosophy department as an adult, a wealthy man with well-formed views and an openly declared affiliation with Freemasonry. He wanted to write a dissertation under my supervision on the topic “The Social Doctrine of Freemasonry.” During the defense, the committee members kept getting sidetracked from the substance of the research and would say, “In this doctoral dissertation…,” and I would correct them: “No, colleagues, this is a candidate’s defense.” The inner core of philosophy is present in everything he does. We even planned to hold philosophical meetings at his galleries and discussed a project for an exhibition of nonconformists.

I’ll mention our alumna Yana Barinova. She was studying at two departments simultaneously, then went to Paris. She later returned to us, already a graduate student at the Sorbonne under the world-renowned professor and star of New Media art, Olga Kiselova, who heads the Art & Science laboratory in Paris. Yana wanted to defend her thesis at home as well, and for the first time in ONU’s history, we established and implemented a dual academic supervision program (Sorbonne–ONU). Yana’s career took off rapidly: she served as executive director of the Babyn Yar Memorial Center, and just before the war began, she headed the Kyiv Department of Culture.

Yana consistently conveyed a crucial message: if cultural management lacks philosophy and a broad perspective, everything turns into bureaucratic routine. Her philosophical approach and the breadth of her personality made it possible to attract the best specialists to our projects, such as our professor Oksana Dovgopolova, who joined the expert council of the Babyn Yar Memorial Center. Yana and I were planning a grand anniversary celebration for composer Valentin Silvestrov, and we also wanted to launch the international “Philosophical Café” movement in Kyiv together with Kyiv-based philosopher Marina Prepotenska. The war put a stop to these plans; Yana was forced to leave for Vienna, but her managerial triumph was rooted precisely in philosophy.

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