By the time data from our senses reach our consciousness, they have been selected and formatted to correspond to what we would see in a photograph of the same location. But along the path from sense organs to awareness, there are many steps where the same data are not directly recognizable. We can't directly "see" the information traveling along our nerve pathways, any more than we can see the latent chemical image in exposed but undeveloped photographic film.
Normally when we attend to the resulting photograph or conscious awareness, we try to pick out the objects and qualities that are important to our consciousness, while disregarding any flaws and artifacts of the sensation and transmission process. Even in a poor-quality photograph, we can recognize familiar faces and the emotions they were showing at the captured moment. But the more one knows about the process of photography, the harder it becomes to avoid focusing on the flaws, and thinking about which steps in the pathway from original scene to reproduction could have been performed differently.
The psychoros is a part of the pathway from our sense organs to our consciousness. We typically disregard any artifacts that might demonstrate its existence, by focusing on our sensory content rather than its flaws. To identify and study the psychoros we must reverse this preference, seeking out situations and illusions that trigger artifacts, and focusing on such indirect evidence of how our sensory pathways work.
Chemical photography is too simple to provide a fertile analogy for the psychoros. The latent image may be invisible, but it is bound into the coating on the relatively rigid flat film, and even in the case of a color reversal process, development will reveal a readily recognizable image. The anamorphic lenses used to squeeze a widescreen movie into the narrower rectangle of physical film stock take a small step closer to the kinds of effects the psychoros can mediate, but even that concept is readily understandable - we are no longer disturbed when a television picture is squeezed to half the screen width to make space for credits or advertisements.
Electronic photography, and the use of digital computers to process the resulting images, provide a richer source of possible analogs to the kinds of effects that reveal the psychoros. Even there, however, the psychoros manipulates and extrapolates from three-dimensional space while our current computer technologies are just beginning to explore 3-D displays. The firmware analogy I discuss here is concerned not so much with the representational content of our sense experiences, as with mapping their relationship to the underlying sensory organs and the space around our bodies.
“Firmware” signifies a layer of programming which is more permanent than software, because it is typically stored in a programmable integrated circuit rather than in more volatile memory, and because its functions are intimately linked to the hardware they support. The purpose of firmware is usually to create a generalized abstraction by which higher-level software may refer to the functions of a specific collection of hardware chips, sensors and circuits. For instance, when you press the ‘\’ key, regardless of which of the several possible locations it may occupy on your particular computer 's keyboard, the keyboard firmware reports “scancode 5D”. Higher level software knows 5D equals backslash, and does not have to care about the specific layout of your physical keyboard.
In some very early computers, firmware was loaded into working memory at power-up, just like software; only its need to match the underlying hardware kept you from changing it at will. When sufficiently large one-time programmable “PROM” or electrically programmable “EPROM” chips became common, they became the favorite home for firmware. To change the low-level functionality of your computer you unplugged a chip and plugged in a different one containing different firmware. Now that electrically erasable “EEPROM” chips and FLASH memory chips are common, changing firmware is almost as fast and easy as installing new software - except your opportunities for change are still limited by your hardware, and the consequences of a failure to reload, or loading the wrong firmware, are disastrous.
Human “firmware” is characterized by this same semi-permanence and necessary relationship to physical resources. There is, for instance, a firmware-level routine which synchronizes your eyes focusing on closer objects as they converge inward. This happens whether you are conscious of it or not, and learning to override it (to see those 3-D shapes hidden in posters of repeating patterns, for instance) can be maddeningly tricky. Adjusting to new glasses which change the relationship of your focus and convergence can be painful as well as disorienting. While you may have moments of success with resolving the hidden object but then lose it again, or find relief from the pain of new lenses in certain situations, it generally takes days or weeks of experience and practice to make the new firmware pathway readily available.
Some human responses, like the classic hammer-just-below-the-kneecap reflex, appear to be hardwired into the nervous system, requiring no learning or programming. The relationship between convergence and focus is sometimes called a reflex, but I believe our capability to learn voluntary control over it and adjust to externally imposed changes in the “hardware” prove it is a learned response. I will argue in other parts of this site that learning how our sensory systems work by experimenting on our own and by copying people around us and absorbing cultural norms is as much a part of human development as learning to walk, run, and dance.
Just like our patterns of walking and running tend to persist unchanged unless we are injured and required to adapt, or until age reduces the effectiveness of our bodies, our perceptual habits rarely change, and only gradually deteriorate. Yet at the end of the Concept page I talked about reconfiguration of the psychoros, which can take place suddenly and spontaneously. In my experience my psychoros can change instantaneously - but the adjustments required for other perceptual habits involving muscles and posture to cope with the psychoros change take far longer and much struggle. Quite similarly to the body's response to a sudden injury...
I mentioned that one of the functions of a computer's firmware is mapping its “sense organs”, the keyboard switches, to standard scan codes. Another is mapping the tracks and sectors of its hard disk memory into logical storage cabinets, where notepads, playgrounds, drawing boards, and all the other various elements of the computer environment may be kept. To be more specific, it is the “operating system” (Windows, Mac, *N*X) which turns your photo of uncle Charlie into a stream of bytes with his name on it, and decides which file cabinet it goes in. The firmware is then in charge of fitting those logical blocks of data into physical tracks and sectors on your disk.
The psychoros is where human consciousness maps its incoming sensory experiences to the patterns of muscular activity required to find them again. Consciousness, like the computer's operating system, is in charge of displaying the “pictures” in your mind, giving them names, evaluating their qualities, and remembering logically where they can be found. If uncle Charlie is out in the barn, consciousness can describe how to get there - stand up, turn right, right again, down the stairs, left, out the door, right, 60 feet to the barn, etc. But when it wants to retrieve the actual experience of uncle Charlie rather than just its logical memory of the experience, it calls upon the mapping capabilities of the psychoros.
It is the psychoros that maps my raw sensory input into where my legs are and how far to move them to get ready to stand up. how hard to push to get up from wherever I'm sitting,
Revised 11 December 2012