We ought to fly away from earth to heaven as quickly as we can; and to fly away is to become like God, as far as this is possible; and to become like him is to become holy, just, and wise.

The gap is where the work happens

There's something counterintuitive here that catches most people off guard. When we hear "fly away from earth to heaven," we might imagine someone checking out of real life—becoming detached or spiritual in that disconnected way. But Plato isn't talking about escaping responsibility. He's describing the opposite: becoming more fully yourself by aligning with something larger and more stable than your daily impulses and fears.

The practical part is what matters. Becoming "holy, just, and wise" doesn't mean joining a monastery. It means noticing when you're acting out of pettiness versus principle, when you're reacting versus thinking, when you're protecting your ego versus genuinely learning. It's the constant small work of catching yourself mid-thought and choosing the harder, better version of what you could do. That's the ascent—not leaving Earth, but treating your choices here with the kind of care you'd give something sacred.

The reason this still resonates is because we still feel the pull between our smaller selves and something we sense could be better. We know the difference between making a decision from panic and making one from clarity. We've tasted both versions of ourselves. Plato's insight is that this gap between who we are and who we could be isn't a flaw to ignore—it's the actual work of being human.