Since early July, I've meant to write about Exhalation by Ted Chiang. But other things keep me occupied —preparing for visiting relatives, readying beds, sewing sheets and blankets, making space, cleaning, shopping, even borrowing mattress from my son. Now the day before their arrival, at last, I turn to one of the shortest yet most unsettling pieces in the collection: “What’s Expected of Us.”
The premise is simple and terrifying. A message from the future introduces a device called the Predictor—a small box with a button and a light. Press the button, and the light flashes one second before you press it. The implication? Free will is an illusion; the future is already fixed. No escape however you try.
Chiang’s narrative, styled like a public warning, is a thought experiment made physical. It explores:
Determinism vs. Free Will – You can't “choose” not to press the button; the light already knows.
Existential Reactions – Some users go catatonic, others rebel pointlessly, many pretend nothing changed.
The Absence of Escape – Unlike other sci-fi, there’s no loophole. The Predictor proves you’re not the author of your actions. You are controlled by forces beyond you.
In a few pages, Chiang invokes centuries of philosophy (Spinoza, Schopenhauer), neuroscience (Libet’s experiments), and physics (Einstein’s block universe) to collapse the illusion of agency and free will. Yet he offers no comfort—no spiritual detour, no ethical workaround. Only a blinking light that knows you better than you know yourself. Don't you ever try to outsmart it!
What hit me hardest is this: I instinctively thought I’d observe others before trying it myself—delay the confrontation. But Chiang anticipated that too. The story’s real trap is meta-awareness: your every hesitation, denial, and rationalization was already predicted. Even your plan to resist is part of the script.
The Predictor doesn’t just disprove free will—it infiltrates your self-image. Watching someone else break down doesn’t spare you; it implicates you. In Chiang’s cold universe, even the decision to "do nothing" was always going to happen.
What’s Left After the Illusion Is Gone?
This story isn’t about the button. It’s about you—the reader—feeling the floor fall away under your choices. Your disbelief, your fascination, your horror... the light already flashed for all of it.
Chiang leaves us with one bleak instruction: "Go through the motions." Not because it matters, but because even your rebellion was already part of the design. Your life's script is prewritten for you.
That’s the final horror:
You’ll keep living as if you’re free, even now—because the Predictor knew you would.
And maybe, just now, the light flashed, leaving you deeply disturbed.