The ‘Pluribus’ Finale Defines Humanity’s Point of No Return in the Cutest Way Possible

In which Vince Gilligan, in no uncertain terms, takes the heroic stance that loving adorable little goats is good, actually.

[Editor’s note: The following review contains spoilers for “Pluribus” Episode 9, “La Chica o El Mundo” — the Season 1 finale.]

Way back in the second episode of “Pluribus,” Carol (Rhea Seehorn) poses a direct question to the five other English-speaking survivors of The Joining. Rather than focus on what’s been gained from an alien virus turning (almost) all of humanity into a global hive mind — including the minor benefit of peace on Earth — she implores them to look at their situation from the opposite angle. “Ask yourselves what’s been lost,” she says.

At first, the group appears to dismiss its singular curmudgeon. Carol’s fellow free people barely pause to consider her request before shifting their focus to the newly emptied zoos. Instead of examining the fate of the world, Xiu Mei (Sharon Gee) complains about a stray giraffe eating all the leaves off her tree.

But then she stops. Xiu turns first to Carol and then to each one of her fellow humans as she says, “I tell you this: I do not give away my dog.”

Xiu’s statement doesn’t mean much to Carol at the time — “Can we just stick with talking about the people?” she pleads — but after the Season 1 finale, it looks like a missed opportunity. Episode 9, “La Chica o El Mundo,” begins less than two months later, when another guest from that initial meeting — Kusimayu (Darinka Arones), the young Peruvian woman who longed to join her family post-Joining — is about to get her wish. A potion manufactured by the hive mind’s top minds (mind?) is on its way to her tiny farming village, and one whiff will correct whatever biological error left her separated from everyone else.

As she waits for the container to arrive, Kusimayu sits in a small paddock, cradling a baby goat. She strokes its fur slowly, gazing down on the dear creature with blissful affection. From her expression and tenderness, her tranquility and devotion, it’s clear Kusimayu loves this little goat.

But after she sniffs those consciousness-altering vapors, Kusimayu doesn’t care about the goat anymore. As the hive mind gets ready to abandon the village, along with its culture and history, she frees the farm animals, just like her fellow “weirdos” did at the zoos. And when her furry black-and-white friend follows her — bleating at her heels, eager for more affection — Kusimayu keeps walking. Her smile may seem similar to what the goat conjured a few minutes prior, but it’s not the same. It’s more uniform now. Homogenized. Broad. She doesn’t feel the particular attachment she once did to the little goat, even though the little goat certainly still feels attached to Kusimayu.

Without realizing it, Kusimayu has done the unthinkable: She’s given away her dog.

Had Carol been paying attention to Xiu Mei on Air Force One, perhaps she could’ve recognized the Chinese woman’s fierce devotion to her dog mirrored humanity’s fierce devotion to our pets — goats very much included. Sure, we may be able to shrug off atrocities inflicted on our fellow man with alarming ease, but if Jesus Christ Himself came down from Heaven and accidentally landed on an innocent pupper, we’d run Him out of town faster than you could say “Hallelujah.” Simply put, there’s just an elemental connection between the empathy we show animals and whatever it is that makes us human.

“Pluribus” Episode 9 beautifully illustrates as much in its heartbreaking opening scene. Without saying a word, we can tell when Kusimayu joins the hive mind, she loses a part of herself that’s good, pure, and soulful. Where once there was individualized love, now there is only generalized compassion. Something is missing, and whatever you want to call it, you feel its acute, agonizing absence when Kusimayu walks away from her tiny goat.

Kusimayu’s choice sets the stage for Carol’s own decision at episode’s end, when she has to choose between continuing her pretend life with her pretend wife within their indulgent delusions, or going home to help Manousos (Carlos-Manuel Vesga) do the hard, right, and real thing (aka saving the world).

And… it’s not much of a choice. Even without Kusimayu’s tear-jerking precurso, griven all we’ve come to learn about Carol, it’s impossible to imagine her living the rest of her days on a romantic vacation with Zosia (Karolina Wydra), to say nothing of agreeing to Join once her own personalized vapor dose is ready. Of course she’s going to do the work to “put things back in their place,” as Manuosos describes it.

But it’s not good enough to know what Carol will do. We have to understand why she’s compelled to do it.

For many shows, that’s easy. The protagonist needs money and/or power, or they need to find their kid, or they need to avoid being slashed to bits by monsters from another dimension. But “Pluribus” is tackling one of the most challenging and enduring existential questions out there: What makes us human? That’s the question Carol has to answer in order to make her decision. That’s the question Vince Gilligan wants us thinking about in 2025 (and beyond), and that’s why “Pluribus” has spent its first season providing answer after answer through a series of enthralling examples. (OK, sometimes they’re not so enthralling, but hey, that’s human subjectivity for ya.)

What makes us human? Well, what about in Episode 8, when Carol writes the first chapter of her next book and lets Zosia read it? The hive mind couldn’t be more excited to read something they’ve never read before. Now they can discover something new, discuss what it means with the author, and share in eager anticipation of whatever comes next. That’s human. Or this week, when Carol and Manuosos argue and fight as they slowly learn how to communicate effectively, make compromises for the greater good, and work together — also human.

Or when Carol cautiously invests in a new romantic relationship only to eventually accept her “chaperone” has just been going through the motions. Just like their time together mirrors a typical courtship, their break-up can be seen as a common, relatable split: These two lovebirds can’t overcome a fundamental disparity: Carol needs to be seen and understood by the person sitting across from her, and all the knowledge in the world (aka the hive mind) can’t provide her that. In other words, Carol is human, and Zosia is not.

(Huh. I wonder what Vince Gilligan might be trying to tell us here. Hmm… oh, I know! [picks up iPhone] “Hey Siri, what is ‘Pluribus’ about?“)

So what does she do? She goes home — and brings an atom bomb with her. I won’t pretend to know what happens when Carol unboxes her giant crate (especially since there’s a decent chance Gilligan doesn’t know either), but my best guess is she brought it home as insurance: If the “weirdos” try to Join her or they succeed in building that giant antenna, she’ll set off the nuke and put an end to their interstellar takeover. (“Weirdos,” it must be said, is a term I love not only because it’s the perfect descriptor for these well-meaning but distant individuals, but also because it’s a handy way to avoid stepping on “Lost’s” toes by calling them “the Others.”)

No matter her plans, the bomb itself still represents loss. Bombs destroy, and Carol is trying to preserve. “I think there’s a way to put things back in their place,” Manuosos says. If they can’t do it — if they can’t bring back our shared humanity — then we’ve lost everything that matters. Things like unexpected friends, new art, and true love. The weirdos saved civilization, sure, but what good is civilization if not to further humanity? And what good is survival without what makes life worth living? Season 1 slowly, steadily revealed that to us, allowing us to consider our values just as Carol does. And what better way to drive home the point than with a baby goat, trotting after its owner, wondering why she was so eager to give him away?

Grade: A-

“Pluribus” Season 1 is available in full on Apple TV. The second season has already been renewed.