Willam Wordsworth and the Balance of the Self

Harold Bloom argued that Wordsworth's poetry is an attempt to reconcile inner freedom with external constraint. The Romantic poet wants to assert the self—but paradoxically, that selfhood depends on being seen and understood by others. In other words, a balance.

“Wordsworth’s poetic project involves reconciling the needs of the individual self with those of society... a classic manifestation of the Oedipal situation.”—Harold Bloom, The Anxiety of Influence

In psychoanalytic terms, this is the central conflict of maturity (growing up)— integrating instinct with structure, personal feelings with the outside world. It's the balance of Blue Flower Power. According to Bloom, Wordsworth doesn’t escape the tension. In fact, it's what drives him. Here are some examples:

Tintern Abbey: Finding the Self in the World

Philip James de Loutherbourg – The River Wye at Tintern Abbey (1805)

Wordsworth revisits a favorite landscape after many years but this poem isn't nostalgic, It’s about the transformation of memory and perception over time. When he says:

"The river glideth at his own sweet will,"

he’s not just observing a river. He’s using it as a metaphor for freedom—something flowing with its own internal logic, untouched by human interference. But here’s the key: that freedom isn’t isolating. It’s part of a larger relational system.

Wordsworth writes:

"Nature never did betray the heart that loved her."

Nature is reliable, reciprocal. It offers a kind of spiritual companionship—a grounding. Embracing nature is not retreating from the world, but rather relating to something larger than the self.

So, even though the poem begins in solitude, it finishes with connection. Wordsworth finds a sense of belonging in the nature that affirms his inner life.

This is what makes Tintern Abbey (and the Romantic quest) about more than escapism. It’s not about disappearing into the past or hiding from society—or unfettered freedom. It’s about integrating emotion in a way that grounds the self (balance). That’s the resolution of the poem: the self isn’t closed off. It’s porous. And it belongs—not by conforming, but by relating.

Takeaway:   Be yourself by belonging

Jean-Baptiste-Camille Corot – Souvenir de Mortefontaine (1864)

The Prelude: Wrestling with the Self

If Tintern Abbey is quiet reflection, The Prelude is the storm before it. It’s long and confessional. Wordsworth doesn’t seem to have it all figured out. He admits he’s “wedded to [his] own delights,” but he's also pulled toward “social objects.” There’s tension. Frustration. A sense of being trapped between inner freedom and outer structure.

And yet he doesn’t retreat. He works through it.

What he’s chasing is what he calls the “true life of life”—a balance between the needs of the self and the responsibilities of living in the world. It’s not about abandoning joy or imagination. But it’s also not about indulging them at the expense of others either. He refuses both isolation and conformity He seeks that rare balance between his art (self) and society’s demands—the "egotistical sublime." In other words, freedom in context.

Where Tintern is calm, The Prelude is active. It dramatizes the process of integrating the self with something larger without losing that self in the process. This is the Romantic project at full speed: not rejecting the self or the world, but reconciling them. And it maps directly onto Blue Flower Power where the ideal isn’t disconnection or purity, but a living, dynamic balance between imagination and structure.

Takeaway: Inner freedom means nothing if it isn’t in conversation with the world.

The Egotistical Sublime: Becoming More Than Yourself

Samuel Palmer The Magic Apple Tree (1830s)

What exactly is Wordsworth’s “egotistical sublime” Harold Bloom describes it as a moment where the self expands—beyond ego—and merges with a larger, more expansive reality. But it's not just personal transcendence: it’s relational. The self stops orbiting itself and becomes part of the cosmos.

In The Prelude, Wordsworth puts it like this:

“There are in our existence spots of time,

That with distinct pre-eminence retain

A renovating virtue... our minds

Are nourished and invisibly repaired.”

Again, this isn’t escapism. It’s repair. These “spots of time” aren’t about retreating into memory or fantasy. They’re moments that anchor us. It’s the opposite of solipsism. The sublime here is egotistical only in the sense that the self is the starting point—not the final destination.

Wordsworth is after balance. But not the balance of compromise, It's expansion—the kind you reach when imagination deepens your connection to the world instead of replacing it.

This is Blue Flower territory: becoming more yourself not by walling off the world, but by relating to it more fully. Not just sensing beauty —but letting it transform you.

Takeaway: The sublime isn’t about escaping the self—it’s about going beyond it.