No acoustic is best in general; designing for sound means choosing which audible qualities a space should have for what people will do there, not just calculating its physics. A dead, quiet room suits studying, while a lively, echoing room suits listening to music.
Once electronics can create the sense of a space without any real space, the feeling of a hall or a cathedral becomes an ingredient that can be added to anything. One room can host a lecture, an opera and a chant on the same day, and musicians can treat spaciousness as part of the composition rather than an accident of where it is played.
Sound bouncing off walls, ceilings and openings tells us about a space's geometry, so even untrained listeners can hear an open door, a low ceiling or an unfurnished house. With practice some people learn to "see" objects with their ears and find their way through a dark room by sound alone.
How a space changes sound shapes how people relate, behave and feel in it, often without anyone noticing. Every environment has this audible design, and anyone who arranges a room is choosing it, on purpose or by accident.
Because sound vanishes the moment it occurs, people have never built a natural language for describing how spaces sound, unlike the rich words we have for what we see. This leaves the modern world undervaluing hearing, and treating its own culture's habits about sound and space as universal truths.