While I find some prestige television a little slow, I loved Pluribus. If you haven’t yet seen it, the premise starts in a way you might expect – an alien virus infects nearly everyone all over the world, and they form a hive-mind, allowing all of humanity to share all their memories and thoughts. A handful of people are unaffected, and the protagonist, Carol Sturka (played by Rhea Seehorn), is the driving force to try to undo what has happened and bring the world back to the way it was.
What makes the show so unique is that, unlike a mind-virus that forces zombies to want to kill survivors, in Pluribus, the hive-mind is deeply happy and extraordinarily helpful to Carol, even when she says that she wants to stop them. As a viewer, while we often want to celebrate and even valorize Carol’s individuality, we also see her portrayed as miserable, upset, or angry. We may intuitively sense two things that lead us to root for her – first, that it’s good for us to have a sense of personal autonomy, and second, that happiness is less important than purpose.
This week’s portion, Va’era, starts the first seven plagues that God lays upon Egypt. Starting with the fourth plague, insects, God makes a “distinction” between the Israelites and the Egyptians.
“But on that day I will set apart the region of Goshen, where My people dwell, so that no swarms of insects shall be there, that you may know that I Adonai am in the midst of the land …. Adonai will make a distinction between the livestock of Israel and the livestock of the Egyptians, so that nothing shall die of all that belongs to the Israelites … Only in the region of Goshen, where the Israelites were, there was no hail” (Exodus 8:18, 9:4, 9:26).
The Israelites here are set apart; perhaps this is a precursor to the Jewish dynamic between particularity and universality. How much are we supposed to be different, and how much are we supposed to be like everyone else? Is our uniqueness a value in and of itself? In the passage, the separation and individuation of the Israelites from the rest of the wider world is a result, not a cause, of this uniqueness. The idea of holiness, kedushah, involves separateness, but that’s because it’s a way in which we emulate God. Here, while the Israelites are not yet called kadosh, God is the one who singles out the Israelites just because of who they are, soon leading them to a sense of purpose – in particular, a sense of mattering.
The idea of “mattering” is explored in more depth by philosopher Rebecca Newberger Goldstein in her new book entitled The Mattering Instinct. In a review in the Atlantic, philosopher John Kaag notes that
With this “mattering instinct” established as humans’ core driver, Goldstein redefines the goal of a well-lived life. She asks readers to look beyond what she considers a modern obsession with happiness, which she characterizes as a fleeting emotion, a mere “surge of neurotransmitters.” The true aim, she argues, is the richer, classical concept of “eudaimonia”—a deep and reflective sense that one’s life is being lived well. She borrows from Aristotle to underscore the point: Eudaimonia “is not found in amusement; for it would be absurd if the end were amusement, and our lifelong efforts and suffering aimed at amusing ourselves.” This thriving rests, instead, in feeling that our life is significant both to ourselves and to others.
At this stage in the Torah, the Israelites are miserable; they are still enslaved. We don’t know if they are “happy,” and that is rarely emphasized or explored. Rather, as they move from enslavement to freedom, the Israelites begin to discover their purpose. Not only that, they discover – and develop – their distinct purpose. While they have experienced nothing but misery at the Egyptians’ hands, through the plagues, they begin to see the value in being distinct and unique, and they will come to figure out how they can make a difference.
After all, while we often talk about Moses’ charge to Pharaoh to “Let my people go,” that’s never the end of the verse. It almost always concludes with, “So that they may worship Me.” It’s not enough just to be free and independent – we need to matter.
That’s why Pluribus is such an interesting show, as it pushes on whether individuality is its own goal. As Carol Sturka tries to reclaim everyone’s humanity, we see everyone else perfectly blissful and at peace, whereas she struggles, gets angry, and acts selfishly. And yet we, as the viewer, intuitively feel that she is right to do so; part of what it means to be human is to be uncomfortable, to be miserable, to be upset. It doesn’t feel good, but it is what allows us to feel.
As rabbi and writer Rabbi Jay Michaelson put it:
Online, some commentators have proposed that the series is a parable for AI, or perhaps technology in general. The showrunner, Vince Gilligan (Breaking Bad, Better Call Saul), has been friendly to this interpretation. The conversations with the infected humans are a bit like talking with an AI chatbot: ask any question, and you instantly get an answer from the hivemind, but there’s no real conversation, because your partner is basically a robot. Often, the infected humans sound like call center employees, reciting rote formulae with a cheery disposition and no sincerity whatsoever. Despite all the humans around, it’s as if no one is really left alive.
We humans don’t want to be enslaved, whether physically or mentally. We don’t want to be forced into happiness like the hive mind in Pluribus, even if it is difficult, unpleasant, or even scary to enter into the unknown as Carol does. We need to claim our distinctiveness. And yet, that’s also not enough. We need to make a difference. We need to matter. Even if we aren’t “happy,” we can always strive to find meaning – both as individuals and as part of something larger.