Cyberspace can't compensate for real space. We benefit from

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Jonathan Sacks, a voice both gentle and profound: “Cyberspace can’t compensate for real space. We benefit from chatting to people face to face.” At first, these words may appear as a simple observation, but in truth they strike to the heart of what it means to be human. For man was not created to dwell only in the realm of images and signals, but to stand before another soul, to meet with eyes, with presence, and with the warmth of living breath.

The meaning of this truth is luminous. Cyberspace, wondrous though it is, offers us a shadow of communion but never its fullness. It is a tool, a vessel, an echo—but it lacks the substance of true encounter. In real space, a hand is clasped, a smile is felt, silence itself speaks, and hearts can be stirred without a single word. The soul thrives on this presence, for we are creatures woven for touch, for nearness, for the exchange of breath and the gaze that affirms: you exist, and I see you.

The origin of Sacks’s insight lies not only in his reflection on modern technology, but in the ancient rhythms of human community. For millennia, men gathered around fires, in temples, in marketplaces, face to face, heart to heart. Wisdom was passed not through pixels but through presence, through the meeting of bodies and the sharing of lives. Even sacred texts, though written, were meant to be spoken aloud, to be heard in the company of others, not locked away in solitary light. Thus Sacks, drawing upon the eternal patterns of human fellowship, warns that no invention can erase the ancient need for real space.

History offers testimony to this truth. In the days of World War II, when Britain endured the terror of bombs, Winston Churchill walked among his people in the streets. He could have spoken only through broadcasts, hidden in safety, yet he chose to stand face to face, and in that presence the people drew courage. His words were powerful, but his nearness was greater still. For it is one thing to hear a voice through a wire, and another to feel the presence of one who shares your danger, your air, your fate.

Even in times of isolation, men have recognized this longing. Consider the letters of prisoners, written in exile, yearning not only for news but for the warmth of embrace, for the nearness of their loved ones. The words on the page carried comfort, but always the cry remained: When will I see you again? This is the echo of Sacks’s teaching—that cyberspace, letters, and signals are precious, yet they can never be equal to the living communion of souls in the same space.

The lesson, O listener, is clear: do not be deceived into thinking that technology alone can fulfill the heart. Use it as a bridge, but do not let it replace the crossing itself. Seek out encounters face to face, where presence heals and strengthens. Remember that even a simple meeting—sharing a meal, walking together, or speaking under the same sky—nourishes more deeply than a thousand words exchanged through the void of screens.

Therefore, in practice, choose real space when you can. Visit the friend rather than only write to him; gather with family not only through devices but around a table; seek community not only in online forums but in living fellowship. For as Jonathan Sacks teaches, cyberspace is a wondrous servant but a poor master, and the true wealth of life is found in presence—in the sacred act of being with one another.