heterosexual feelings in her or his inner, will not ask for the source.
Those who are conscious of pedophilic feelings, come across the question.
So, what are the sources of pedophilic feelings?
The type of answer
A difficult start
The first crucial choices
Pain and painkillers
A small side room
From the shadow to day light
Choices made because of a lack
The main source is the fact that, for all mammals, children are attractive. This attraction is not unique, it is a general human phenomenon.
Beside this main
source, the question of sources can only be answered person by person. If I ask
100 people about it, I expect 100 different answers. At the most, we might be able
to divide them into ten (or so) groups of answers. Let this be done later on.
For now I can only answer one question: the request for my sources.
If I outline below the circumstances as they have been, this does not mean that these are the causes. To conclude that, we need a reasoning, and therefore we need a theory. There is no theory. For the time being, I only can outline an unique constellation. By doing so, I do not intend to present the circumstances and people as the causes. I do not have a deterministic vision on the human being, but a vision in which the human is a being who can act, that is: can chose his actions. In my doctor's dissertation, I have extensively explained, and accounted for this vision.
In my case, only one person has made the choices, that's me. By doing so, I take responsibility for my own feelings. I do not deny them. I also do not project them onto other people. I do not view other people or circumstances as responsible. I only mention the circumstances in which I have made my choices. These choices are the roots, the circumstances are the ground in which the choices have been made.
It may be clear that the conditions-searching model (# 2) not will be mine, because I do not want to search the sources outside myself, but will take the responsibility for my own choices. For the same reason, the behavioral model (# 1) is too limited, too deterministic an too mechanical. I reject also the distorted-thinking model (# 3), the feministic model (# 5) and the demonologic model (# 9). One does not ask real questions in these models, one pretends to know everything already. I have a lack of knowledge of the biological model (# 6) and the evolutionary model (under # 10) while the historical model (# 7) and the constructionalists' model (# 8) are off-topic here. Remaining are the psycho-dynamic model (# 4) and the spiritual model (under # 10) which is still under development.
I was born in a hospital in the Second World War as a weak and sickly baby. Immediately, the maternal body and breasts were replaced by an incubator. There followed a surgery and a long stay in the hospital. The start of my life was a struggle between life-and-death.
Once I arrived at home, bombers flew over the house, air-raid alarms sounded. We learned to take shelter. Bombs fell in our streets. German soldiers searched the house for bicycles, brothers and for evidence of Jews in hiding. We had to flee, walking and loaded with bags. But the next bomb fell precisely near the house we fled to, . There was a hunger winter with an acute shortage of food.
Traveling with my parents to my brother in the city of Nijmegen, on the way to it I saw the railway station. On the way back, the station was bombed into ruin. We had to go a long way by feet.
Canadian planes dropped tins with food, and I helped my father to gather these tins and carry them home. When the war was over, a Canadian soldier took me on the front of his motorcycle and showed me the city I lived in: a large bombed ruin.
So I knew: the world is a heap of rubbish. I have very clear reminiscences of this and my mother later confirmed it all.
There was a reminiscence she strongly confirmed: I did not want to eat. This was a great concern for her. Again I had to go to the hospital, undernourished. I got nasty porridge there, which I again refused to eat. I still can imagine the long row of white beds. I still remember the nasty 'taste' of that tasteless porridge, a watery kind of flour porridge.
If a young child refuses food, there is something wrong. It indicates an early-childhood depression. According to the literature, this is one of the worst and most difficult problems, because it threatens to block all development. In a way, this has happened. Already as a very young child, I have said NO to life, to my own vitality.
This early choice was a choice for the isolation of the early-childhood narcissism. This, in turn, hindered me from coping with the Oedipal rumble. I scarcely succeeded to come through that phase, albeit by choosing for what is called the 'negative' solution. Namely: not to imitate my father in order to reach the desired mother figure, but to imitate the mother figure and deny the father figure.
A crucial choice. Indeed, in early childhood, I inwardly abandoned my father. I only avoided or combated him. Much later - but better late than never - I have discovered that I by doing so I also have abandoned most of my masculinity, and not have developed it above a minimal level. I imitated my mother. The most visible feature of her became the main thread in my life: caring for children.
In spite of the large family, but also because of my place in the sequence of children, I was quite lonesome. My mother adopted foster children in need of foster care after the war. One of them was a younger boy I went about with day and night. We slept on one bed and were always together. According to my mother, I was very nice for him.
But one day. I went to school and after school I discovered that my foster brother had suddenly disappeared. His mother had left the hospital after a long stay and had taken him home. Many years later, my mother clearly remembered how I was since: silent and sorrowful, but outwardly with a stiff upper-lip, without any crying to express my sorrow. I fantasized about a little brother who, for me, was almost real.
The start, as outlined above, was difficult and painful. There is an ancient pain in me. I call it "my ancient stew". But for a long time, I have avoided feeling it. My mother was the great painkiller. This worked - as long as I was a child. But a boy must grow older and gradually distance himself from the mother figure. So I needed a substituting painkiller. This entered my life when I was 16 years old.
Our school had adopted a club house for the street urchins of the city center. People asked me to volunteer there. A crucial question and a crucial choice: Yes! With pleasure!
I had been a silent 'grey mouse' as a child and a teenager, silently busy with music, religion, mythology and literature, together with also very earnest friends. In the club house, I revived like a flower in the spring.
I had found my substitute painkiller: no longer being cared by a mother, but giving care to children - the mirror image of the caring mother figure. Before, she had been my perfect painkiller. From then on, the substitute, the mirrored form of it, worked also perfectly. It became my profession.
Needing a substitute painkiller, and thus a caring task, I could have cared equally well for babies, patients or old people, but there is still another side of the story that played a role. The children in the club house were street urchins of the city's center: vital children, and boys. This was more than a painkiller softening the blow of my soul, it was a necessary supplement. After all, I had abandoned my vitality - and my young masculinity - quite early in childhood.
In addition, the culture of our family, and especially the role of my father within it, was surely not to stimulate the development of vitality or masculinity. We were supposed to be decent, obedient and quiet. We were not supposed to play on the street with those 'asocial pagan children' or - at least equally bad - protestant children. No shouting inside the home and no playing soccer on the street... this was not a climate to regain my lost vitality.
Nevertheless, vitality does not allow itself to be suppressed or abandoned. Life is stronger than ideology. Having the vitality of the street urchins around me, my soul felt completed, healed. I had regained my lost vitality, albeit around me. But this awoke the tiny bit of vitality that was still sleeping in the cellar of my soul. I revived and totally cheered up as a flower in the spring. Having such a perfect painkiller and medicine around me at hand, the choice of my profession was easy, clear and obvious.
Vitality around me >
In this essay, I speak about pedophilic feelings. Where were they? I was only vaguely conscious of them in the background. Only now and then did they come up. The main trend of my feelings in this respect was platonic and religious. The more bodily and sexual feelings were sleeping in a small side room of my mind. There they had their silent place in the shadow. Vaguely I knew them but I did not feel this as a problem. Not before my environment got exited, I had a look in that side room, but I let the feelings quietly stay there as they were. They did not prevent me from finding a wife and marrying.
The feelings remained there for years. I knew they were there, but they usually did not come to life; it seemed they were content with their modest place in the side room. It was just as Oedipus' fifteen years of kingship. In the myth, a plague came after those fifteen years of peace. The fairy tale, the illusion, ended, and with the crisis and the disillusion the real myth began.
Not until an unexpected and abrupt divorce, the shadow saw its chance. It was the same time that I had changed my job and missed the warm climate of the children's home I worked in before. The feelings pressed forward and came out of the shadow in full day light. I could no longer deny them. I chose to give them room and had to take the consequences. This lead to a great crisis, which was the start of my query of which I report now. I give answers, I take responsibility without hiding myself. I also come out of the shadow into the day light.
The source are choices I have made, each time because of a lack: a lack of vitality, the lack of my beloved foster brother and young friend, the lack of a pain killer, the lack of an accepted male model and by that also the lack of a developed male identity. I was just as the child we have seen in literature: the silent and more or less lonesome child. So I became just as the man we have seen in literature: not exactly shy, but surely sensitive, a man with few competition, aggression and sexual urge, preferring to care for children.
I might have made this choice already before I was born: the choice to be born in a caring family in an era in which many children lacked food and care. I was one of the youngest children of a large family, thus the procreating task of the family was already in good order. For me, there was also another task, the main thread of my life: caring for children.
I had, and have, another task also: giving care to the cage-givers, and now also to care for people who come across pedophilic feelings in their inner self and who worry about these feelings. It might be my task to be their guide now. Since I have investigated my own inner self to the farthest corners and all side tunnels, I have room for that. There is also room to search for unprejudiced knowledge starting, not from an obsessive attitude, but questioning with an open mind.