CONS:
Without knowing what your date is truly like in real life, you are presented only with the version of the date that he or she wishes to demonstrate in text or via a telephone or camcorder. A person can say "I wasn't online yesterday because I was out volunteering at a nursing home," and you'll accept it as true, not realizing that they were actually just spending all their money at a video arcade. A person can say "I got this bruise and this cut by slipping on the ice outside my apartment," when really they were assaulting someone in an alley and the victim fought back. You have no way of knowing what the truth really is -- about how they spend their time, how they spend their money, how they interact with other people (politely or rudely, confrontationally or peacefully).
Also, you'll have no way of knowing whether the two of you actually have a chemistry or attraction between you when you do finally meet in person.
PROS:
If you have only text to work with, and provided that the other person is as honest as they would appear, you can get to know their real mind. They'll show you who they really are, their real behaviors and their real thoughts. Your mind won't be clouded by their physical appearance, so you're more likely to base your decisions on mental and emotional compatibility rather than on simple physical attraction or lack thereof.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A few generations ago, it would've been very difficult for me to find a suitable mate, if I lived in a small town with a small Jewish population. In fact, my family might have been the only Jewish family nearby. Without leaving home myself, or having someone new come into town, I'd have no way of finding a husband who shared my beliefs, values, practices, ideals, and goals. To solve this problem, I would probably contact the nearest rabbi or professional matchmaker (or rather, my parents would contact him on my behalf). The matchmaker would ask to meet with me in my home. He would meet my parents and talk to them about me, then talk to me. He'd ask questions about my personal character, my education, my level of Jewish observance, my ability to keep a home, my desires for children. The matchmaker would need to know if I was fine marrying a poor man who was pious, or would prefer a scholar, or someone who could support me well, or if I would rather have a handsome man, would I accept a large age difference, did I mind if the man was divorced or a widower... In other words, the two basic questions are: What were my needs and wishes for a husband? What needs or wishes could I meet as a wife?
Then the matchmaker would consult his list of men who were looking for a wife. He would pick out a few likely prospects for me (and, in turn, each of them would be given a few prospective wives, one of which would be me). He would suggest, "Divash, why don't you come visit my home for Sabbath dinner next week?" That would be code for "There's a man I think might be suitable for you, and I have invited him to be there as well." I would go, and I would meet the man. If one of us didn't like the other so much, we need never embarrass one another by meeting again. If we did like one another, we'd then arrange to meet again at the rabbi's home on another occasion. And another. This might happen over the course of a month or two -- once a week, or every other week, perhaps.
Eventually, either we would decide we were incompatible and would cease contacting one another, or we would begin the second stage of courtship. The second stage would be meeting one another's parents, usually by inviting one another for a Sabbath meal in the home. We'd travel by train to see one another, me at his mother's table and then him at my mother's table. This might happen over the course of another two or three months. If I decided he was truly the man for me, I would finally be the one to prepare the dinner that we ate, and my father would ask the young man a little more about his background. Where did he study? What trade had he learned?
Meanwhile, he and I might also be writing letters to one another in a less formal but no less important part of the courtship: getting to know one another. We would be opening up our minds to one another, learning about one another's daily lives, our hopes and fears, our dreams and goals, our values and beliefs and practices. We would be trying to determine if we were truly one another's destined soul mates.
If everyone was satisfied so far, the parents would be the next ones on the train to visit one another. They would discuss everything that had already been discussed, with the additional question: Do you approve of this match? If that was answered yes, then the wedding would be planned.
Now, compare this to internet dating. There's usually no matchmaker, unless you're using jdate.com or ematch.com or one of those services. You're often not involving parents, so there's no extra set of eyes to notice what you fail to notice in the first blush of romance -- but on the other hand, communication is near-immediate. A single page letter, instead of taking weeks to reach the target, might take a few minutes, and hence, what used to take six months to a year can now take six days to a month. You can communicate more; you can also plan trips to visit one another in person so you can tell if the online chemistry translates well to in-person chemistry.
Sure, you can still find nefarious sorts who would lie online, just as you used to find folks who would present only their best side to the matchmaker and the parents. But eventually you have to decide to trust someone.
Times haven't changed all that much, eh?
Oh, and... I was introduced to my bashert (soul mate, destiny) online. But before we met in person or even shared a telephone call, we had our mutual friends talk to one another, and to us. And my mother flew across the country for a professional conference (which didn't actually exist; it was an excuse) and meet my bashert for me, and she came back with an enthusiastic approval. My bashert and I have been together for ten years now.
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