When Empathy Becomes Clingy
Process and Gloopiness
Leaving Space to Breathe
Sticky empathy is empathy that overpowers the moment with conformal feeling, smothering the other person with an affection that is often, subtly, self-serving. It has an adhesive quality—a clinginess, a certain kind of emotional gloopiness.
Fluid empathy, by contrast, is empathy that moves with the other—sharing without dominating, resonating without engulfing, and allowing the other person to grow. It honors the other’s integrity. It is non-adhesive, non-gloopy. It knows how to offer a warm hug, even a very tight one, but also when to let go—and when a simple bow, rather than a hug, is the wisest and most spacious response.
Whitehead’s philosophy provides a helpful context for thinking about these two kinds of empathy within a world in process, where emotions are the spice of life not only for human beings but for all beings—and yet where, in human experience, emotions can fall into gloopiness. His idea that people are interdependent yet also individual, each with their own integrity, encourages a more fluid form of empathy: one that resonates with another without collapsing into them, and one that leaves room for the other to breathe.
Fluid empathy, by contrast, is empathy that moves with the other—sharing without dominating, resonating without engulfing, and allowing the other person to grow. It honors the other’s integrity. It is non-adhesive, non-gloopy. It knows how to offer a warm hug, even a very tight one, but also when to let go—and when a simple bow, rather than a hug, is the wisest and most spacious response.
Whitehead’s philosophy provides a helpful context for thinking about these two kinds of empathy within a world in process, where emotions are the spice of life not only for human beings but for all beings—and yet where, in human experience, emotions can fall into gloopiness. His idea that people are interdependent yet also individual, each with their own integrity, encourages a more fluid form of empathy: one that resonates with another without collapsing into them, and one that leaves room for the other to breathe.
Gloopiness
According to the Oxford English Dictionary, gloopiness has two primary meanings: emotional and physical.
Emotional Gloopiness
“The state, condition, or quality of being mawkish or overindulgent; excessive sentimentality.”
Physical Gloopiness
“The state, condition, or quality of being viscous, sloppy, and sticky; glutinous gooeyness.”
Emotional Gloopiness
“The state, condition, or quality of being mawkish or overindulgent; excessive sentimentality.”
Physical Gloopiness
“The state, condition, or quality of being viscous, sloppy, and sticky; glutinous gooeyness.”
A Panemotional Universe
David Ray Griffin coined the term “panexperientialism” to name the Whiteheadian idea that every actual entity in the universe—however small or large in comparison with others—is an act of experiencing other things. Experience, in this sense, is not limited to consciousness or cognition; it is the basic mode of existence. Whitehead adds that every occasion of experience includes within itself something like emotion, what he calls subjective forms. These are the tones of feeling—pleasure, pain, harmony, discord, valuation—that accompany the act of prehending the world.
Thus, the universe as Whitehead envisions it is not only panexperiential but also panemotional. Each moment of becoming feels its world in some way, however faintly or intensely. The cosmos is, through and through, a vast society of feeling events. We may not know very much about the emotional lives of atoms or molecules, living cells or plants, earthworms or spiders, but we do know that many of these creatures, and perhaps all of them, experience something like attraction or repulsion: they are drawn to or repelled by other entities. They have feelings and emotions.
In human life there are various categorical schemes for naming emotions we all share: for example, the six basic emotions proposed by Paul Ekman (happiness, sadness, fear, anger, surprise, and disgust). From a process-relational perspective, these named emotions are the complex, high-grade forms of what Whitehead calls subjective forms—the feelings that characterize every moment of experience. In humans, subjective forms become elaborated through memory, imagination, language, and culture, producing the rich palette of emotional life we recognize and name.
More simply: the emotions we can name in human life are refined expressions of the feeling-tones that, in simpler forms, permeate the whole universe.
At their best, these feeling tones add spice to life, are appropriate to the circumstances at hand, and tell us something about the world. And yet they can, sometimes, overflow in exaggerated ways that become, as it were, “gloopy.” Gloopy, according to the Oxford English Dictionary noted above, refers to something thick, sticky, viscous, or over-sweet in consistency or tone—a quality that can be literal (as in a gloopy sauce) or figurative (as in excessively sentimental emotions).
By “gloopy” we can mean that the tone of feeling ceases to match the data it is responding to. A small disappointment becomes a catastrophe; a mild attraction becomes operatic longing. The emotional side of the panexperiential life overflows its banks and become, well, gloopy:
Thus, the universe as Whitehead envisions it is not only panexperiential but also panemotional. Each moment of becoming feels its world in some way, however faintly or intensely. The cosmos is, through and through, a vast society of feeling events. We may not know very much about the emotional lives of atoms or molecules, living cells or plants, earthworms or spiders, but we do know that many of these creatures, and perhaps all of them, experience something like attraction or repulsion: they are drawn to or repelled by other entities. They have feelings and emotions.
In human life there are various categorical schemes for naming emotions we all share: for example, the six basic emotions proposed by Paul Ekman (happiness, sadness, fear, anger, surprise, and disgust). From a process-relational perspective, these named emotions are the complex, high-grade forms of what Whitehead calls subjective forms—the feelings that characterize every moment of experience. In humans, subjective forms become elaborated through memory, imagination, language, and culture, producing the rich palette of emotional life we recognize and name.
More simply: the emotions we can name in human life are refined expressions of the feeling-tones that, in simpler forms, permeate the whole universe.
At their best, these feeling tones add spice to life, are appropriate to the circumstances at hand, and tell us something about the world. And yet they can, sometimes, overflow in exaggerated ways that become, as it were, “gloopy.” Gloopy, according to the Oxford English Dictionary noted above, refers to something thick, sticky, viscous, or over-sweet in consistency or tone—a quality that can be literal (as in a gloopy sauce) or figurative (as in excessively sentimental emotions).
By “gloopy” we can mean that the tone of feeling ceases to match the data it is responding to. A small disappointment becomes a catastrophe; a mild attraction becomes operatic longing. The emotional side of the panexperiential life overflows its banks and become, well, gloopy:
Varieties of Gloopiness
Over-Sweet Memory
A person recalls a childhood moment—pleasant, yes, but ordinary—and suddenly bathes it in a halo of golden nostalgia. The memory becomes thick with sentiment, as if every detail were glowing with a sacred warmth never present in the original moment.
Inflated Tenderness
A friend does something mildly kind—holds a door, offers a smile—and the recipient experiences it as a profound gesture of devotion. The emotional tone is too rich for the act itself, turning a small kindness into a melodrama of gratitude.
Self-Pity Spiral
Someone faces a modest frustration, like a rough day at work or a delayed flight, and the subjective form wraps it in layers of tragedy. A small bruise becomes an opera of suffering.
Cosmic Interpretation
Something mildly unusual happens—a bird lands near your window or you misplace your keys—and it is instantly interpreted as a sign from the universe. The emotional tone far exceeds the event.
Tragic Forecast
A minor setback leads to a dire emotional projection: “This always happens,” or “Everything is falling apart.” The feeling attaches itself not only to the present but to an imagined future.
Romantic Excess
A passing crush becomes a Shakespearean romance—complete with longing, fantasy, and imagined future dialogues. The emotional coloring is rich, operatic, and unstoppably adhesive.
Sticky Empathy
A person empathizes so deeply with another’s pain that they begin to inhabit it, clinging to the emotion as if it were their own. Empathy becomes enmeshment; compassion thickens into emotional fusion.
A person recalls a childhood moment—pleasant, yes, but ordinary—and suddenly bathes it in a halo of golden nostalgia. The memory becomes thick with sentiment, as if every detail were glowing with a sacred warmth never present in the original moment.
Inflated Tenderness
A friend does something mildly kind—holds a door, offers a smile—and the recipient experiences it as a profound gesture of devotion. The emotional tone is too rich for the act itself, turning a small kindness into a melodrama of gratitude.
Self-Pity Spiral
Someone faces a modest frustration, like a rough day at work or a delayed flight, and the subjective form wraps it in layers of tragedy. A small bruise becomes an opera of suffering.
Cosmic Interpretation
Something mildly unusual happens—a bird lands near your window or you misplace your keys—and it is instantly interpreted as a sign from the universe. The emotional tone far exceeds the event.
Tragic Forecast
A minor setback leads to a dire emotional projection: “This always happens,” or “Everything is falling apart.” The feeling attaches itself not only to the present but to an imagined future.
Romantic Excess
A passing crush becomes a Shakespearean romance—complete with longing, fantasy, and imagined future dialogues. The emotional coloring is rich, operatic, and unstoppably adhesive.
Sticky Empathy
A person empathizes so deeply with another’s pain that they begin to inhabit it, clinging to the emotion as if it were their own. Empathy becomes enmeshment; compassion thickens into emotional fusion.
Sticky Empathy and Fluid Empathy
From a process-relational perspective, emotional over-identification (sticky empathy) occurs because the subject’s prehensions of another’s experience lose their proportion. Instead of feeling the other with an appropriate mixture of intimacy and distance, the subject copies or absorbs the other’s feelings as if they were its own. The boundary between “my feeling of your feeling” and “my feeling as your feeling” collapses.
In Whitehead’s terms, the subjective form assigned to the other’s experience becomes too intense, too thick, too close. The prehension is not wrong in content—it is an accurate awareness that the other is hurting or confused—but it becomes gloopy in tone: clingy, engulfing, or over-saturated with concern.
At a deeper level, this occurs because a sense of relationality is replaced by a craving for emotional merging. Rather than concrescing its own authentic response to the other’s experience, the subject tries to become the other—mirroring their hurt, amplifying their anxiety, or adopting their suffering wholesale. The initial aim—which always involves finding a fresh, fitting response—is muffled under a thick layer of emotional mimicry. Where the world invites proportion, the subject produces excess. Where the situation calls for presence, the subject gives self-loss.
In short: empathy becomes clingy when the subject fails to preserve relational contrast. Instead of offering companionship, it pours itself into the other’s world with syrupy intensity. The feeling ceases to be supportive and becomes possessive, engulfing, or intrusive—not because the intention is wrong, but because the subjective form has outrun the datum.
Fluid empathy, by contrast, has a musical quality. It feels deeply in the moment but does not cling to the feeling when the moment passes. It is porous rather than adhesive, rhythmic rather than static. There is tenderness but also spaciousness. Fluid empathy:
Where sticky empathy collapses boundaries, fluid empathy preserves them gently. Sticky empathy pulls us into emotional fusion; fluid empathy opens up space. Sticky empathy is love when it thickens; fluid empathy is love when it flows.
In Whitehead’s terms, the subjective form assigned to the other’s experience becomes too intense, too thick, too close. The prehension is not wrong in content—it is an accurate awareness that the other is hurting or confused—but it becomes gloopy in tone: clingy, engulfing, or over-saturated with concern.
At a deeper level, this occurs because a sense of relationality is replaced by a craving for emotional merging. Rather than concrescing its own authentic response to the other’s experience, the subject tries to become the other—mirroring their hurt, amplifying their anxiety, or adopting their suffering wholesale. The initial aim—which always involves finding a fresh, fitting response—is muffled under a thick layer of emotional mimicry. Where the world invites proportion, the subject produces excess. Where the situation calls for presence, the subject gives self-loss.
In short: empathy becomes clingy when the subject fails to preserve relational contrast. Instead of offering companionship, it pours itself into the other’s world with syrupy intensity. The feeling ceases to be supportive and becomes possessive, engulfing, or intrusive—not because the intention is wrong, but because the subjective form has outrun the datum.
Fluid empathy, by contrast, has a musical quality. It feels deeply in the moment but does not cling to the feeling when the moment passes. It is porous rather than adhesive, rhythmic rather than static. There is tenderness but also spaciousness. Fluid empathy:
- feels the feelings of the other
- honors the other’s experience without absorbing it,
- responds empathically without fusing emotionally,
- stays receptive to the new possibilities the next moment brings.
Where sticky empathy collapses boundaries, fluid empathy preserves them gently. Sticky empathy pulls us into emotional fusion; fluid empathy opens up space. Sticky empathy is love when it thickens; fluid empathy is love when it flows.
Faith in God as a Companion
to Fluid Empathy
Faith in God, from a process-relational perspective, is not faith in an all-controlling power but trust in a divine companionship—a presence that feels with us without overwhelming us, guides without coercing, and honors our integrity as becoming beings. In this sense, God can be understood as the ultimate exemplar of fluid empathy: a compassionate presence that shares in the world’s joys and sufferings while giving each creature the freedom and space to grow into its own possibilities.
Crucially, in Whitehead’s view, God truly feels the feelings of the world. Every joy, every sorrow, every trembling pulse of experience enters the divine life and becomes part of God. Nothing is ignored; nothing is lost. And yet this divine feeling never collapses the world into God, nor absorbs individuals into a single cosmic self. God feels us as we are, in our distinctness, in a way that honors our independence. The world becomes part of God’s life, but the world does not become God. Divine empathy is intimate and spacious at once.
God’s empathy, in this vision, is never adhesive. It does not smother the world with affection, does not cling, does not fuse with our experience in ways that rob us of our agency. God feels all things, yet never in a way that overwhelms or dominates. Divine empathy is tender, responsive, and respectful—always present, never possessive.
To have faith in such a God is to trust that we are accompanied by a love that moves with us, not over us. It is to trust in a compassion that knows when to hold us close and when to let us stand on our own trembling feet. It is to trust in a divine patience that bows as often as it embraces—a humility woven into the very heart of the sacred.
This kind of faith can deepen our own capacity for fluid empathy. By trusting in a God who feels our feelings yet honors our independence, we are invited to feel with others in a similar way. By trusting a God who “prehends the world” with gentle attention rather than emotional fusion, we learn to offer our own empathic presence in ways that enrich rather than suffocate. Faith becomes a teacher: showing us that compassion need not be clingy, that love need not be adhesive. In the companionship of such a God, we discover that fluid empathy is not only possible but sacred—a way of participating in the divine rhythm of feeling-with without collapsing-into, of loving-without-overpowering, of being present while letting go.
Crucially, in Whitehead’s view, God truly feels the feelings of the world. Every joy, every sorrow, every trembling pulse of experience enters the divine life and becomes part of God. Nothing is ignored; nothing is lost. And yet this divine feeling never collapses the world into God, nor absorbs individuals into a single cosmic self. God feels us as we are, in our distinctness, in a way that honors our independence. The world becomes part of God’s life, but the world does not become God. Divine empathy is intimate and spacious at once.
God’s empathy, in this vision, is never adhesive. It does not smother the world with affection, does not cling, does not fuse with our experience in ways that rob us of our agency. God feels all things, yet never in a way that overwhelms or dominates. Divine empathy is tender, responsive, and respectful—always present, never possessive.
To have faith in such a God is to trust that we are accompanied by a love that moves with us, not over us. It is to trust in a compassion that knows when to hold us close and when to let us stand on our own trembling feet. It is to trust in a divine patience that bows as often as it embraces—a humility woven into the very heart of the sacred.
This kind of faith can deepen our own capacity for fluid empathy. By trusting in a God who feels our feelings yet honors our independence, we are invited to feel with others in a similar way. By trusting a God who “prehends the world” with gentle attention rather than emotional fusion, we learn to offer our own empathic presence in ways that enrich rather than suffocate. Faith becomes a teacher: showing us that compassion need not be clingy, that love need not be adhesive. In the companionship of such a God, we discover that fluid empathy is not only possible but sacred—a way of participating in the divine rhythm of feeling-with without collapsing-into, of loving-without-overpowering, of being present while letting go.