Somewhere in all the myriad things and relations of things composing the world's furniture subject is to be found. It is not an ordinary kind of thing, an object simpliciter, but nonetheless it must be there, and since the world is mapped, since it exists for us in the form of a mental map, a map we have not made, perhaps only modified, but which was bequeathed to us by our evolutionary past, and which we call reality, we must find a place in it for everything, and therefore for subject. It is not an object but it sits in the map as a kind of object, and we identify ourselves as that quasi-object, or else as precisely not it, but as a point or a bright upwelling just a little way upstream of it, depending on whether we are thinking fast or slow. Our map is not a single projection of the entire world, but the overlapping of two or more maps, the view from here and the view from there, which don't exactly mesh, but between them cover the lot. In fact subject is unmappable and isn't on any map. At best the maps are for subject; and furthermore subject is not a point, as it appears to be in every projection, but if anything more like a space: say the whole thing viewed with no distinguished point. The point subject is a peculiar amalgam of two Cartesian ideas, the self-validating 'I' and the geometric origin of co-ordinates. From the objective side it is absurd to keep positing strange objects as respositories of subjectivity, these will only be knocked over one after another, delaying the project of a fully objective theory of consciousness. It is a matter of finding a theory of ourselves that can be believed, and belief is only in objects. And at the end of it, when we are quite satisfied, someone will still pipe up with the question, 'But who believes?'