Jesus Didn’t Defend Prostitution. He Exposed Hypocrisy. - By Professor, Theoretical Physicist, Architect, Master-chef, Engineer, Scientist, Botanist, herbalist, Pataphysician, Psycho_Analyst, Dr NobuNaga Of The Universe City Of Mintaka AKA 'Handsome Black Dude'.

 

People love to smuggle their favourite sins into scripture. Lately I’ve seen this strange argument floating around — that Jesus Christ “defended prostitution.” The logic is always the same: he stopped a woman from being stoned, he spent time with outcasts, therefore he must have been endorsing the profession.

I don’t know who started that rumour, but it’s the theological equivalent of saying a doctor who treats lung cancer is endorsing smoking.

Let’s start with the obvious: Jesus wasn’t defending prostitution. He was defending a human being. Those are not the same thing. And anyone who has ever taken their own body seriously — as a temple, as a vessel of consciousness, as something divine — knows there is no universe in which you can genuinely believe you are a manifestation of God and simultaneously rent out your genitals for survival. Not for money, not for cosmetics, not for anything. That’s not moral judgment; that’s metaphysics. A temple is not a marketplace.

So what was Jesus doing?

He was confronting the oldest human disease: hypocrisy.

“Let the one without sin cast the first stone” is not a moral endorsement of the accused. It is a moral indictment of the accusers. It is Jesus saying, Before you perform righteousness in public, let’s talk about what you’re hiding in private.

And if you translate that moment into today’s world, it becomes painfully familiar. A judge sentencing someone to life for a handful of weed, while secretly downloading child pornography. A politician preaching family values while maintaining a second family in another postcode. A pastor condemning sexual immorality while quietly funding his own.

The robes, the titles, the institutions — none of them guarantee innocence. They only guarantee performance.

Jesus understood that.

And this is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable, because we still pretend we know people when we don’t. We see the act, never the activating force. We see the thief, not the hunger. We see the prostitute, not the desperation, coercion, trauma, or economic machinery that made the body negotiable. We see the “criminal,” not the chain of events that made crime feel like the only available door.

This is why the stone matters. The stone is the fantasy that we are qualified to judge someone else’s entire existence from the outside.

And I say this as someone who has experienced something most people only theorize about: telepathy — not metaphorical, not poetic, but direct mental exposure. A natural telepathic presence that made my mind transparent to another person. They knew everything: my humour, my mistakes, my private jokes, even the strange corners of identity I didn’t know were visible. Meanwhile, I couldn’t tell whether I had the same access to them. Maybe it was blocked. Maybe the memory was trimmed. Maybe the experience itself had parameters I wasn’t allowed to keep.

What I do know is this: once you have experienced that level of mental exposure, you stop pretending you understand people. You stop pretending you know what someone is carrying. You stop pretending you can judge anyone from the outside. And you certainly stop romanticizing “higher experiences.” Knowing more is not always liberation; sometimes it’s burden.

Which brings me back to Jesus.

He wasn’t saying, “There is no right or wrong.” He was saying, You don’t know enough to be the executioner. You don’t know the story behind the sin. You don’t know the private terror behind the public mistake. You don’t know the invisible machinery behind the visible act. And you definitely don’t know the darkness inside the person holding the stone.

So no — Jesus did not defend prostitution.

He defended the human being from the arrogance of people who believed they had already understood her.

And that lesson is still radioactive.

We’ve simply upgraded the stones. Today we throw prison sentences, social media outrage, moral grandstanding, public humiliation, professional destruction, and the collective fantasy that a single screenshot reveals a soul.

The stone has changed.

Human nature hasn’t.

And maybe the real question Jesus leaves us with is not, “Is this person guilty?” but:

How much of the story do you actually know — and how much of yourself are you refusing to examine?