“Bewildered” is one of my favourite words in the English language. It’s very German (that “be” prefix gives it away) and you can decode its meaning quite easily from its parts. To be “bewildered” is to find oneself in the wilds.
The OED entry is beautiful, too:
lost in pathless places, to be at a loss for one’s way
That’s one of the virtues of the OED – it’s more than a store of stark definitions, it’s a treasurehouse of language and nuance. English (perhaps all language, I don’t know) is not poetic only in the sense that it lends itself to poetry, but in nature: it communicates not just with surface meaning but by invoking – evoking – emotional and intellectual responses. That’s why the Encarta definition doesn’t please me:
be-wil-der
confuse somebody: to confuse or puzzle somebody completely
bewildered – adjective
In the first place, I’m not sure it’s complete. Bewilderment feels stronger than confusion, as that OED definition, and the root, would tell you. To be lost without a way home, to be marooned in incomprehension is more than just being muddled or puzzled, however complete the puzzlement. Bewilderment is almost existential.
In the second, the Encarta definition gives you no subsidiary information. It exists purely to allow you to comprehend, roughly, what a sentence containing the word ‘bewilder’ might mean. It’s a tool, rather than a dictionary.
You might say that’s not a problem for functionality, as it were: that Encarta serves its purpose without flowery language, and I’ll accept that up to a point – although I’d say that without an understanding of the nuances of words, you risk using them in ways which will convey the wrong message. For example:
Dear Sam,
In the light of our conversation yesterday, I’m confused by your decision to promote Alex, but I acknowldge it is your choice.
To me, that expresses faint reservations. However:
Dear Sam,
In the light of our conversation yesterday, I’m bewildered by your decision to promote Alex, but I acknowledge it is your choice.
That sounds like the beginning of a resignation letter or a boardroom war.
The place where I get really windy, though, is that Encarta is positioning itself as the default reference package in schools. If there’s one venue where I’d like to see people exposed to the OED style of definition, it’s there. Why? Because English is the thread which knits together so much – perhaps all – of what we do. It leads into our history, to science, to philosophy and politics. Understanding it is integral to learning other languages, and a knowledge of the more curious bits of English often means having clues about how to tackle German, French, and so on. “Thou hast” becomes “Du hast” or “Tu as” without much trouble.
The lateral, twisted connections of language are opportunities to learn, frequently in ways which make intuitive rather than textbook-linear sense. When I have to approach a big body of learning and absorb it, I head for the index to find something I know a little about already. That takes me through until I have enough of a grasp of the subject to go back to the index and repeat the process with my new knowledge, and so on. Language is our index. The OED acknowledges that. I’m not sure about Encarta – or the many other dictionaries and dictionary-tools which are available.
Without the OED, I think we’ll all end up lost in pathless places. So I wish they’d do a deal with Apple or Microsoft, and get themselves bundled and softwared up, or that they’d get EU funding to be a presence in the education system. Something – anything – to get people in contact with the raw power of the language, rather than just the GUI version.
