What does it mean to be happy? Is it being free of cares, or does that merely grant calm and contentment? Is it losing yourself in the moment, enraptured by music or art, or is that mere euphoria? Or is true happiness only found in the love we bear for others, whether family, friends, or partners?

Vince Gilligan’s new series, Pluribus, seems to be digging into this question, among many others, and I’ll admit that I’m fascinated. Both on a personal level, as someone who finds happiness hard to define and achieve, and as a writer who enjoys fiction that engages with knotty questions about human nature.

(Naturally, there will be spoilers below the cut. Pluribus, though not quite finished with its first season, is well worth knowing as little as possible about before tackling.)

Pluribus’s narrative sees the vast majority of humanity come together in a single consciousness. Though the members of this hive mind claim that they retain their individuality, they also have full access to each others’ thoughts, emotions and memories. In this state, where everything is shared, they exist in an ongoing sense of bliss, one that either leads to or arises from a complete absence of violence and a shared purpose. The only fly in the ointment for the changed is that this shared experience isn’t total. A handful of people around the world remain excluded from the hive mind.

Our viewpoint character is Carol Sturka, writer of romantic fantasy and world class grouch, for whom the transition was deeply traumatic. She lost her partner Helen (one of a large number of casualties of the changeover event) and found herself utterly alone in a world bent on convincing her that lowering her barriers and becoming one with the hive mind was a sure path to happiness and fulfilment.

So far, Pluribus has revolved around Carol’s reaction to the change and her interactions with the other survivors, all of which have been coloured by Carol’s deep unhappiness. This contrast between humanity’s newfound collective purpose and bliss and Carol’s determination to not only retain her own sense of self but to tear down what has changed provides the core conflict of the narrative. And it’s not hard to see that Carol’s determination to return to the way things were isn’t as altruistic as she thinks it is.

The show has been sparing with Carol’s backstory thus far, but it did provide us with one flashback to Carol and Helen’s life before the change. A visit to an ice hotel, evidently a special occasion for the couple, who were closeted due to Carol’s public persona as an author. But whereas Helen is enraptured and encouraging in the moment, Carol barely registered anything special about their surroundings, up to and including the aurora borealis flaring in the sky above their bedroom. This is a woman who doesn’t accept happiness easily, if at all.

Venture to the Wikipedia page for anhedonia and you’ll read that it’s not a specific complaint but rather a catch-all term for various deficits in the desire for or ability to enjoy happiness. Before and after the change, there was little sign that Carol had an ability to be happy, and she has been angrily resistant to multiple entreaties to consider what the hive mind offers as happiness. With happiness (and the word “happy” is used a lot) enshrined as a major theme, how does it portray that happiness?

There’s no reason to doubt that the hive mind mean it when they say that they are happy, both individually and collectively. Causes of doubt and fear have been removed, and the sense of society and common purpose have been supercharged. To the point of euphoria? Maybe, but everybody comes across as supremely contented rather than joyful. Basking in the satisfaction of living in the best of all possible worlds, maybe? Or masking collective fears.

As for Carol, having specialised in shows with morally dubious, if not outright villainous, protagonists, Vince Gilligan has worked hard to make her unlikeable, even if her reaction to the hive mind is easy to understand. Rhea Seehorn portrays Carol as constantly on edge and defensive, especially when it comes to the hive mind’s repeated statements that it only wants to make her happy. That defensiveness, added to an innate “Carol knows best” arrogance, tip over into abusive behaviour more than once. To the point that the hive mind, after repeated instances of suffering as a result of her distress, decides that it needs some distance, even though it professes to still “love” her.

Lacking a clear view of Carol’s past, or enough time spent unpicking her motivations, her flaws stand out more sharply. She angrily dismisses everything that the hive mind has done for humanity—ending all strife, granting peace and community—and the idea that what it offers is real happiness. Even so, the hive mind has provided an end to all cares (except perhaps caring for Carol and the other exceptions to the hive mind) and the constant reassurance of inescapable community.

In fact, Carol’s resistance to what the hive mind is offering is not even shared by all her fellow survivors. Some cling to family, even though those family are now part of the hive mind. Some even desire to join the hive mind. In skewed opposition to Carol is Koumba, who takes advantage of the hive mind’s desire to make him happy by indulging in the luxuries the old world would have denied him, going so far as to engage the hive mind in an extended James Bond LARP. However, there is also Manousos, who resists even more than Carol, refusing to have any interactions with the hive mind. He is certainly not happy but is anyone? Or do they deceive themselves, making the best of the present moment. Koumba pursuit of a hedonistic form of happiness works for him for now, but most seem to be just coping as best they can.

There is undoubtedly be a lot more to be revealed regarding Carol’s motivations and exactly what it is that drives the hive mind. (Speculation: All organisms wish to survive, via procreation, so the hive mind’s common purpose involves spread to other worlds beyond earth.) It’s also entirely possible that Gilligan will unveil unexpected twists and unearth buried concepts as he explores the ideas built into Pluribus. Regardless of how the plot progresses, it seems likely that happiness will remain a central theme.

What we can see so far suggests that Carol had built a life for herself where her problems with happiness were hidden away. An understanding and patient partner, and a profession where she could create a persona for her fans and write fiction that didn’t entirely express or fulfil her. Now, in the age of the hive mind, those supports are gone, and so far (she has yet to meet Manousos as of writing this) she feels like the only unhappy person left. Worse, she has to deal with a world that is determined to make her happy, that offers her happiness at every turn. If only she accept what they give her. Lower her defences and reach out her hand.

Which of course she refuses to do. She tries to rally her fellow exceptions, coming across as the worst kind of paternalistic, condescending westerner in the process. She tries to find out the truth about the process of the change and whether it can be undone, descending into drugging and abusing one of the changed in the process. In lashing out, she causes waves of distress that ripple through the hive mind, leading to multiple deaths across the globe. In the world of the hive mind, she’s an abusive partner and a careless giant rolled into one. All because she won’t even try to accept the happiness they want to offer.

Should she? That’s a question for the audience. Perhaps the key philosophical question posed in the series so far. This change was imposed on humanity. Does that create an imperative to undo it? Who decides? Even if Carol is competent to do so, perhaps only one of her fellow exceptions would agree with her. Would you trust the future of humanity to someone as manifestly unhappy as Carol is? As Koumba says in the most recent episode “She’s so lonely,” and even if that loneliness is primarily a result of the change, it was there before, carefully packaged away.

It’s a special kind of writing that sits with you even when you walk away from it. Pluribus has aimed for that status right from the start. Whether or not it will fulfil its promise will depend on where Vince Gilligan steers the story, and the care it takes in unpacking its themes. So far so good, though I doubt Carol would agree.