The Momentary Self

On Letting Go and Becoming Again
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The ancient doctrine that ‘no one crosses the same river twice’ is ex­tended. No thinker thinks twice; and, to put the matter more generally, no subject experiences twice. 

AN Whitehead, Process and Reality, p. 29

There is a becoming of continuity but no continuity of becoming,

AN Whitehead, Process and Reality, p. 31

An actual entity is at once the subject experiencing and the superject of its experiences. It is subject-superject, and neither half of this description can for a moment be lost sight of. The term ‘subject’ will be mostly employed when the actual entity is considered in respect to its own real internal constitution. But ‘subject’ is always to be construed as an abbreviation of ‘subject-superject.’

AN Whitehead, Process and Reality, p. 29

Commentary
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Subjective Immediacy: The Heart of Concrescence

In Whitehead’s philosophy the “subject” of a momentary experience consists of its subjective immediacy. It is what happens in concrescence. This immediacy consists of the self-enjoyment and self-creativity of the occasion of experience as it comes into being. It is shaped by:

• Its physical feelings – prehensions of the actual world, carrying the data of other entities into the new becoming.
• Its conceptual feelings – the prehending of relevant possibilities (eternal objects) that give form, contrast, or value to what is felt.
• Its subjective forms – the emotional tones, valuations, and qualitative textures with which the data are felt.
• Its act of decision – the selective, self-determining integration of some data and possibilities rather than others. This is where the subject exercises its freedom, narrowing the range of relevant feelings to achieve a particular pattern of harmony and intensity.
• Its integration or satisfaction – the creative synthesis in which the many data, with their subjective forms and chosen possibilities, are gathered into the unity of a single, determinate perspective on the world.

These five are not separated; they occur together as interwoven phases of a single becoming. In concrescence, physical feeling, conceptual feeling, subjective form, decision, and final integration are not discrete steps lined up in sequence but mutually informing aspects of one living immediacy.

The Subject-Superject

As soon as the integration or satisfaction occurs, the subjective immediacy of the “subject” perishes, and it becomes an “object” in the experiences of successive events. It becomes, as Whitehead puts it, a superject. Thus the momentary subject loses its immediacy but simultaneously becomes, in Whitehead’s words, “objectively immortal” as a constitutive factor in the future—an influence carried forward in the feelings of all later occasions. It should be emphasized that what perishes is not the occasion itself, but its immediacy. Thus Whitehead uses the word "subject" as an abbreviation for subject-superject.

From What to Who                              

However, this way of explaining things presents the “subject” in impersonal terms, as an event that is a what but not a who. The idea is recast in more personal and first-person terms when Whitehead writes:

“The ancient doctrine that ‘no one crosses the same river twice’ is extended. No thinker thinks twice; and, to put the matter more generally, no subject experiences twice.”

Here Whitehead invites us to understand the becoming subject not as an abstract process but as a momentary someone: a fleeting center of feeling—a who—who arises, enjoys immediacy, and then perishes as a subject. The subject is a momentary 'thinker' or, more generally, an 'experiencer.'

Each moment of experience is thus a fresh “I,” a newly constituted subject who feels the world from a unique standpoint and whose subjective immediacy lasts only for that moment. What endures is not the subject but the continuity of inheritance—the way each perished subject becomes a superject, for the next moment of experience.

The Self as Successive Subjects

Thus the question emerges: What might it be like to understand myself as a series of subjects, a series of “I’s,” a succession of momentary selves—each of whom enjoys a flash of immediacy, a pulse of unique aliveness, but whose subjectivity perishes as soon as that moment reaches its satisfaction? I think it entails the idea that we can grow through time, and also that we can—and must—let go of who we were. If each moment of experience is a fresh subject, a new “I,” then the past selves we once were have already perished as subjects and now live on only as data for the present. They shape us, but they no longer define us. We inherit them, but we are not identical with them.

This means that growth is not merely possible—it is metaphysically built into the structure of experience. Each new “I” arises with the capacity to integrate the past creatively, to revalue it, to reinterpret it, and even to soften or heal it. And it also means that clinging to past identities—past injuries, past triumphs, past versions of ourselves—is a misunderstanding of how subjectivity works. The self is always moving, always becoming, always exceeding what it has been.

Three Ways of Imagining the new "I"

One way to imagine that each moment is a new “I” is to picture a film composed of countless individual clips. Each clip is distinct, a discrete pulse of imagery, yet it inherits everything from the clips before it and offers itself to the clips that follow. From the inside, though, the viewer never experiences isolated frames; the film is always “now,” always flowing in a seamless present. Something similar can be said of our own lives: each momentary subject is a new actuality, but the lived “I” feels continuous because each new subject inherits the entire past of the person and hands itself forward.

A second image transposes this cinematic analogy into something more organic: a crest on a wave. The crest is always here and now, and yet different at every moment—and so it is with us. The body of water underneath lengthens and deepens as it moves, carrying an ever-growing past that shapes the present crest. And we ourselves are the crest, always living in the immediacy of the newest “I,” even as that crest is continuously shaped by everything that has come before.

A third image is that of a swimmer crossing a body of water. The swimmer is never located in the past or the future but is always the act of swimming in the living present. And yet each stroke inherits from the strokes before it—their rhythm, strength, and direction—and contributes to the strokes that follow. The swimmer, like the crest and like the momentary “I,” is always now, always newly arising from the accumulated momentum of the past.
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The Becoming of Continuity

In all three images, we glimpse what Whitehead means when he writes: “There is a becoming of continuity, but no continuity of becoming” (Process and Reality, 35).

The becoming of continuity consists of successor moment of subjectivity feeling or prehending past moments as superjects, such that it creates continuity in the very act of feeling and integrating the influences. And yet there is no continuity of becoming, because each moment in the past is discrete: a distinct "I" whose immediacy has perished.

in short, the continuity of a self is not an unbroken subject enduring through time but the ongoing inheritance that each new “I” receives from its predecessors, giving rise to the felt unity of a life unfolding from within. And indeed, each moment contains not only the personal past of the person but the entire universe, for in every concrescence “the many become one”—the whole past world flowing into the immediacy of the present. Truth be told, each moment is a concrescence of the universe. 

The Discipline of Release:
Letting Past Selves Be Superjects

To live with this awareness is to practice a discipline of release: honoring who we were, receiving the inheritance they offer, but allowing them to remain what they have become--superjects, not subjects. We grow because the past cannot hold us; we become because the moment insists on its own creativity. Each new subject is an invitation to begin again.

This awareness also helps us forgive, letting go of resentment. We do not forgive by erasing the past but by recognizing that the “I” who was wounded is no longer the “I” who lives now, and that the “I” who caused harm has likewise perished as a subject. Their influence persists as data, but they are not identical with the living subject who now arises. In this light, forgiveness becomes a metaphysical possibility: an acknowledgment that selves change, that no one is reducible to a single moment, and that every new subject—our own and another’s—is free to become something more.

The same awareness can support freedom from addictions, which often rely on the illusion that the self is fixed, trapped in a single pattern that defines who we “are.” When we see that each moment brings into being a new subject, a new “I,” we also see that each moment offers a new possibility for breaking compulsive patterns and responding differently. And it opens the freedom to imagine new selves, new trajectories of becoming, since the self is not a static entity but an unfolding stream of momentary subjects—each one a fresh chance to shape a life in a new direction.

This awareness also helps us recognize changes in mental states—such as Alzheimer’s disease—with greater sympathy and compassion. When someone’s orientation to the world shifts, sometimes dramatically, it is not because an enduring self has “disappeared” but because the stream of momentary subjects has taken a new and often challenging course. The continuity of personality may weaken, but each new moment is still a living subject, still a center of feeling, still worthy of companionship and care. Seeing a person as a succession of new “I’s” helps us meet them where they are, honoring the immediacy of who they are now rather than clinging to who they were before.

These are but a few of the implications of Whitehead's idea that people, and we ourselves, are a series of momentary selves, not a single self that endures over time. Below I name some more.

Practical Implications of
​ Momentary Subjectivity
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Compassion in Everyday Relationships

​Seeing others as momentary subjects invites us to meet people in the immediacy of who they are now, rather than imprisoning them in our memory of who they were. This awareness softens judgment and loosens rigid expectations in families, friendships, and partnerships. It helps us respond to the living person before us rather than a fixed image carried from the past.

Release from Shame and Self-Condemnation

If the subject perishes each moment, shame can be understood as a misidentification with a past “I” that no longer exists. The self who acted unwisely or unwittingly has already perished as a subject. This frees us to begin again without carrying old moments as permanent stains on our character. Each new moment offers a chance to reclaim dignity.

Accepting Responsibility While Recognizing the Capacity to Change

A process view of the self helps us hold two truths together: we can take responsibility for past actions while also recognizing that we are not bound to be the same person who performed them. The past “I” who acted is gone as a subject, but its effects persist as data that shape the present. Accepting responsibility means acknowledging those effects honestly and doing what can be done to repair harm. Yet at the same time, this perspective frees us from fatalism: the self is not fixed by its past moments. Each new “I” has the capacity to respond differently, to grow ethically, and to imagine more constructive patterns of becoming. Responsibility and renewal thus become companions, not opposites.

Trauma Healing

Trauma is real and persists as data, but the one who was traumatized is not numerically identical to the one who exists now. When handled gently, this insight can empower survivors to build new selves and reclaim agency without denying the depth of their suffering. Healing becomes a moment-by-moment openness to new forms of becoming.

Letting Go of Rigid Self-Images

People often cling to narratives about who they “are” (“I’m not creative,” “I’m just anxious,” “I’m bad at relationships”). A process view reveals these narratives to be inherited patterns, not fixed identities. Each moment is an opportunity to loosen these self-descriptions and experiment with new ways of being. The self is always more than its stories.

Cultivating Presence and Mindfulness

Mindfulness becomes more than a technique—it becomes metaphysical realism. Each moment is literally a new subject; presence is the natural stance of a concrescing being. By attending to the immediacy of experience, we align ourselves with the grain of reality rather than resisting it.

Creative Innovation and Artistic Practice

Artists, writers, musicians, and dancers—indeed anyone engaged in creative work—can draw upon this idea to liberate themselves from past habits and styles. Each new moment is an opening for novelty, a fresh “I” bringing a new aesthetic possibility. Creativity becomes participation in the continual emergence of new subjectivity.

Parenting and Education

Children are not unfinished adults—they are continually new subjects. Each moment presents a new opportunity for guidance, patience, and affirmation. Educators and caregivers can help young people see themselves as capable of growth, not confined to fixed talents, labels, or limitations. Development is a stream of momentary becomings.

Conflict Resolution and Dialogue

In political or community conflicts, this vision encourages participants to hold open the possibility that others can change, evolve, and transcend past positions. It invites dialogical patience and softens polarization. No one is reducible to the subject they were in a previous moment of conflict.

Spiritual Life and Prayer

In process spirituality, each moment is an opportunity for the divine lure to shape a new self. Prayer, meditation, and discernment become ways of cooperating with the next “I” coming into being. Spiritual life becomes a dynamic partnership with the sacred creativity at the heart of each moment.

End-of-Life Care

For patients experiencing cognitive or physical decline, this view honors the continuing emergence of new subjects even in fragility. It encourages caregivers to meet the person in each arising moment with dignity and presence. Even when continuity weakens, the immediacy of the new “I” remains worthy of recognition and love.