If You Build It, He Will Come
A Metaphysical Reading of Field of Dreams
In Field of Dreams, we’re told, “If you build it, he will come.” But what is “it,” and who is “he”? Phil Alden Robinson’s 1989 classic offers more than a heartwarming story about baseball and reconciliation. Beneath its cornfield fantasy lies a profound metaphysical meditation on faith, memory, and the soul’s longing for completion.
The Field as a Liminal Space
Ray Kinsella’s cornfield is no ordinary ballfield—it’s a threshold between worlds, a place where the veil between the material and spiritual thins. “This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds us of all that once was good, and it could be again.” The field becomes an arena of the soul, where past and present converge, and old wounds can be healed. It is here that the soul communes with the unseen, and the game becomes a metaphor for redemption.
Hearing the Call
When Ray hears the voice whisper, “If you build it, he will come,” it’s a metaphysical moment of spiritual calling. The voice isn’t madness; it’s the soul’s intuition—what Rudolf Steiner might call the whisper of higher worlds. Ray’s wife Annie urges him to trust his vision: “If you really feel you should do this, then you should do it.” This reflects a core metaphysical truth: the soul is called to awaken and act, even when logic protests.
The Players as Archetypes
The ghostly ballplayers, including Shoeless Joe Jackson, aren’t just spirits from baseball’s past—they’re archetypes of dreams deferred and innocence lost. When Shoeless Joe says, “I’d have played for food money,” he echoes the purity of passion untainted by greed. The field becomes a cosmic stage where stories of regret, loss, and redemption play out, mirroring the human soul’s journey.
Faith as the Bridge
Ray’s unwavering belief in the voice, the vision, and the field underscores the metaphysical idea that faith bridges the seen and unseen. “It’s only in the movies,” someone scoffs—but Ray knows otherwise. When Ray begins to doubt, it’s Terence Mann who affirms the deeper truth: “People will come, Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom.” This reflects a faith not rooted in logic but in the soul’s knowing. Without guarantees, Ray builds the field and, in doing so, invites magic into the mundane.
The Final Reunion
The film’s climax—Ray’s cathartic catch with his father—transcends sport. “Hey Dad... you wanna have a catch?” It’s a metaphysical moment of forgiveness and completion, echoing the soul’s longing to reconcile with unresolved aspects of the past. The simple act of playing catch becomes a profound symbol of connection between generations, worlds, and selves.
Watch the scene here:
Field of Dreams invites us to listen for the voice beyond the ordinary, to trust the heart’s calling, and to honor the sacredness of memory. In the field of the soul, faith transforms longing into presence, and reconciliation becomes a homecoming.
In my previous post, I reflected on the most quoted line from Field of Dreams:
For me, that “he” is my son, Samuel.
On January 27th, 2021, my world split open with unspeakable loss. My son Sam, just thirty-two, left this world—and in that moment, a part of me went with him. But another part, a quieter part, stirred awake. It wasn’t content with letting him go. It asked, 'Where is he now?' Can love reach beyond death?
And so began a journey not just of grief, but of remembrance and reconnection—a journey that took form in the sacred space of storytelling.
I didn’t set out to write a novel. I set out to find my son.
But as I wrote, I discovered something unexpected. My fiction—something I had always cherished—transformed into a spiritual practice. Each chapter became a kind of séance of the heart. The veil between the worlds grew thin. And through that veil, I didn’t just mourn Sam. I collaborated with him.
That collaboration became Between Two Gates – A Young Man’s Quest Toward Birth, a metaphysical novel that begins at the moment of Sam’s passing and follows his soul through the realms beyond, culminating in his eventual rebirth. It’s not just fiction. It’s biography. Soul-biography. One that reaches beyond the physical and into the eternal unfolding of a soul’s journey.
There were moments in the writing process when I felt Sam so near, his presence like warm light behind my shoulder. His insights, his humor, his essence—they wove themselves into the pages like golden thread. What emerged wasn’t just my voice, but ours. Father and son, crafting a story that says: Love does not die. It transforms. It travels. It returns.
The book is more than a tribute. It is a bridge.
Writing Between Two Gates did not erase the pain of loss, but it transfigured it. It gave shape to my sorrow and offered meaning in its wake. It reminded me that creativity, at its highest level, is communion with the self, with the divine, and with those we love who have gone ahead.
If Field of Dreams reminded us that faith can summon the unseen, Between Two Gates takes the next step: it shows what happens when that unseen begins to speak back.
This story is for Samuel.
This story is Samuel.
And if you feel called to read it, I hope it meets you in that quiet space where memory turns to light, and love becomes eternal.
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Neil Perry Gordon
