How 'The BFG' rekindles our dream of the divine.
On Paul Simon’s new album Stranger to Stranger, he sings:
I trade my tears
To ask the Lord
For proof of love
If only for the explanation
That tells me what my dreams are made of…
This reminds me of what C. S. Lewis said: “If I discover within myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world.”
Both of these speak to my suspicion that dreams and desires are meaningful, that they point like a compass needle toward truth. And both came to mind as I watched Steven Spielberg’s delightful new fantasy for families: The BFG.
Coming to home video in December (it’s still playing in some theaters), The BFG turns a beloved children’s book by Roald Dahl into a movie that makes whole families marvel, laugh out loud, and cheer. We follow Sophie, an insomniac orphan who, stolen from her bed by a wandering giant, awakens to a new world of wonders and dangers. There’s a moment that moves me when Sophie wakes to discover that the giant has returned her to the orphanage. She stands up, outraged, and shouts, “Why did you give me a dream? Why did you give me a dream?”
Indeed. Why are we given dreams of a benevolent presence in the cosmos? Why do these longings persist when so much of worldly “evidence” suggests there is no such thing?
It’s a recurring theme around the world, from fairy tales to movies. Kind-hearted guardians reveal themselves to wide-eyed human beings—children, in particular—in order to watch over them and bless them. We love the fantasy of Saint Nick up North, of the plush and pillowy Totoro, of conscientious robot protectors like the Iron Giant and Baymax of Big Hero …
