CREATIVE LIVING:INSIDE A COMMUNITY FOR CHILDREN WITH AUTISM

A dissertation submitted to the Wright Institute GraduateSchool of Psychology, in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Psychology

byJUDITH SCHAPIRO

MAY 2009

2009JUDITH SCHAPIRO

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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May 2009

CREATIVE LIVING:INSIDE A COMMUNITY FOR CHILDREN WITH AUTISM

byJUDITH SCHAPIRO

Children with autism spectrum disorders face a complex set of challenges when

they enter the school system. Inspired by the work of D.W. Winnicott and Carl

Rogers, the author suggests that facilitative educational settings for these children

are those that stimulate creativity, honor a child’s strengths, trust the

developmental process, and provide nurturing sensory experiences. These

elements appear to be present in the holistic communities of Camphill Rudolf

Steiner Schools. In an idiographic, phenomenological study, the author joins one

Camphill community as a participant-observer. She stays in a house with 12 staff

and 7 children for three weeks, engaging in house activities, classes, therapies,

and festivals. Five interacting dynamics—Time, Nature, Spirituality, Community

and Learning—emerge in conversations and in experiential discovery. These

dynamics take on palpable sensory qualities, and they interact to create a unique

living environment. The Camphill community is an alternative society for both

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staff and children. Its members embrace pragmatic and abstract aims of daily

living and of spiritual growth. The creative lifestyle of Camphill offers us an

opportunity to challenge assumptions about normality, education, experiential

learning, and nonverbal life.

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Dedication

To my mentors who stand by their beliefs,To the children who offer their love and inspiration,And to my spiritual teachers who show me my own journey.

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Acknowledgments

I would like to offer my gratitude to the children at Camphill, of diverse inner andouter presentations, for opening themselves to me despite my possibly confusingrole in their homes, classrooms, workshops and therapies. I would like also tothank the staff members of this community for generously sharing their stories,reflections, and precious time.

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And a woman who held her babe againsther bosom said, Speak to us of Children.And he said:Your children are not your children.They are the son’s and the daughter’s of Life’s longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you, yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.You may strive to be like them,but seek not to make them like you.For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

---Khalil Gibran, The Prophet

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Table of Contents

I. Introduction & Review of the Literature…………………1

II. Design & Method………………………………………..33

III. Results…………………………………………………...40

IV. Discussion……………………………………………....100

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Chapter One: Introduction & Review of the Literature

Education for Children on the Autism Spectrum

Early intervention. The phenomenon of autism is as complex as it is

prevalent. Autism spectrum disorders impact an astronomical one out of every

150 children in the United States (Center for Disease Control, 2007). Each child

diagnosed with autism has a profoundly distinct cognitive, physiological and

emotional life. Researchers, clinicians, educators and families strive to create and

implement efficacious interventions to address speech, behaviors and social

patterns that distinguish these children from their typically developing peers.

They face the challenging task of identifying the unique needs of each child and

determining ways to meet them.

Children between the ages of two and five who have been diagnosed with

autism spectrum disorders often receive 40 hours per week in intervention

services, more than many adults spend in the workplace. These children’s job is to

“learn” how to engage in the world. Treatments can include play-based therapy

such as Greenspan’s DIR approach (Peloquin, 2001), behavioral therapy such as

Lovaas’ Applied Behavior Analysis (Smith, 1999), sensory integration therapy

(Ayres, 2005), and speech therapy. Many parents combine treatments, often

driving long distances between clinical settings.

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Levy, Kim and Olive (2006) find that the most successful interventions

are those that begin at an early age, consist of many hours per week, last at least

one year, and address a number of domains such as speech and behavior. They

find that extensive parent involvement enhances outcomes, but suggest that this

may result from parents’ ability to increase intensity (hours per week) and

duration (Levy, Kim & Olive, 2006). The 24 studies that they examine use a

number of quantitative measures to evaluate child outcomes but fail to measure

efficacy over time, a common problem among evaluations of early intervention

programs (Smith, 1999).

Levy et al. (2006) acknowledge that a number of factors impede

researchers in assessing the efficacy of interventions. They argue that “variables

including parent involvement, type and timing of intervention, and child

characteristics” make it difficult to evaluate improvement (Levy et al., p.60).

Alongside other researchers, they question whether standardized intelligence tests

can capture the cognitive abilities of autistic children (Smith 1999; Levy et al.,

2006).

Methodological and philosophical differences aside, many of these studies

are laden with assumptions about the goals of treatment. Levy, Kim and Olive

(2006) address the extent to which children on the autism spectrum look more like

neuro-typical children. They do not address quality of life, or the joy manifest in

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the children’s faces. If autistic children are receiving such intensive interventions

from such an early age, there are two important questions worth asking. What we

are hoping to achieve? Why? The answers to these questions underlie research in

early intervention. They are also central to research in educational services for

latency-aged children.

Services for latency-aged children. Whatever early intervention services

autistic children do receive, most transition to an educational environment around

the age of five. School becomes the new academic, social and emotional learning

ground. In fact, one large California HMO offers only evaluation and no direct

treatment for children on the autism spectrum (hospital case manager, personal

communication, October 2008). Instead of the 40 hours per week among the

colors, sounds, smells and personalities within their therapeutic settings, they

experience the new sensory elements of school. Many schools struggle to meet

the needs of these sensitive children. The rise in the incidence of autism, the

complex and diverse symptom presentation, and the unique social and sensory

components of autism make it a unique challenge for education systems.

On July 13, 2008, the San Francisco Chronicle printed an article describing

the extent to which California public schools struggle to meet the needs of the

46,196 autistic children enrolled as of 2007 (Asimov, 2008). The author writes

that families who live in wealthier districts are afforded the opportunity to benefit

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from an array of services including occupational therapy, behavior therapy, and

the “coveted and expensive” one-on-one services (Asimov, p. A-1). Schools are

challenged to address combinations of gross and fine motor needs, social

challenges, language delay and even academic splinter skills that are present

among many autistic children.

Goals of education. Children impacted by autism spectrum disorders are

also impacted by the values of the society in which they live. Thus, in order to

look at the education of autistic children, one must first look at the dominant

discourse about the goals of education. Some people believe that schools that

“produce” students who are competitive and skilled at test-taking can go on to

succeed in lucrative careers. It follows that for policy makers, a good school

might be one in which students perform well on standardized test scores because

outward manifestations of academic success raise real estate prices. For many

parents, a strong school is one with a large percentage of students who attend

prestigious universities. Autistic children are compared to same-aged peers in

these areas, and their interventions are often geared toward improvement along

these lines.

As is the case for therapeutic goals, educational goals surely depend on the

specific presentation of the child (Levy et al., 2006). Some parents may wish for

their children to live independently as adults. Others might hope for their child to

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be able to say his or her own name or to ask for preferred food items at a meal.

Might others simply wish for their child to be happy? To be accepted as he is?

What would it mean for an autistic child to thrive in our society? Who answers

that question, and who is asking it?

The insights of Carl Rogers and D.W. Winnicott offer clinical psychologists

a foundation for establishing the therapeutic and educational goals for autistic

children. They each offer a bridge between psychology and education as they

describe the “facilitating environment” (Winnicott, 1965) and “classroom

climate” (Rogers, 1969, p.104) that allow for the “facilitation of learning”

(Rogers, 1969, p.115). In this study, the researcher will adopt a philosophical

stance toward health and education based on the therapeutic and educational

ideologies of Rogers and Winnicott. Embracing a redefined goal, this study will

not evaluate one educational model in terms of its ability to transform autistic

children into neuro-typical children. Rather, the author will suggest that creativity,

trust in a child’s emerging strengths, and nurturing sensory environments are

crucial elements in educational settings for children on the autism spectrum. The

author will consider the model of curative education to see how it might be a

strong match for children on the autism spectrum in these terms. Finally, the

author will use a phenomenological approach to examine one residential

community that uses the curative education model.

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Carl Rogers: A Humanistic Vision of Education

Facilitating Learning. In contrast to the dominant discourse, Carl Rogers

suggests that the goal of education is to inspire young people to think for

themselves (Rogers, 1969). He suggests that children must learn to develop inner

awareness in order to adapt to an ever-changing world. He writes:

The goal of education, if we are to survive, is the facilitation of changeand learning…I see the facilitation of learning as the aim of education,the way in which we might develop the learning man, the way in whichwe can learn to live as individuals in process. (Rogers, 1969, p.104-105)

Rogers’ definition of learning honors human evolution and the changing realities

of each generation. His statement is particularly powerful when one considers the

impact of environment on autistic children and their struggle with flexibility in the

face of change. Rogers’ idea of intervention might be to help an autistic child to

thrive in an unpredictable world.

In an essay that he generously titles “The Goal: The Fully Functioning

Person” (Rogers, 1969), Rogers describes the qualities of a “facilitator” and the

learning that ensues when a humanistic environment is created in a classroom:

When a facilitator creates…a classroom climate characterized by…realness,prizing, and empathy; when he trusts the constructive tendency of theindividual and the group…he has inaugurated an educational revolution.Learning of a different quality, proceeding at a different pace, with a greaterdegree of pervasiveness, occurs…Learning becomes life, and a very vitallife at that. The student is on his way… to becoming a learning, changing,being. (Rogers, 1969, p.115)

In this view of education, the goal is not for children to simply learn to read and

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write or to perform well on standardized tests. Rather, it is for them to build a

connection to themselves and to people around them. Writing in the late 1960s,

Rogers acknowledges that most schools emphasize regulations and

standardization of achievement. He would likely be disappointed to find that fifty

years later, such values increasingly dominate the world of education.

Rogers highlights the similarities in therapy and education. His use of the

word “facilitator” describes the primary role of both therapist and teacher

(Rogers, 1969, p.115). Like autism specialist Stanley Greenspan, who suggests

that therapists should “follow a child’s lead,” Rogers suggests that a teacher

should allow the child’s innate mental capacities to develop. He writes that a

successful “facilitator of learning” must have “a profound trust in the human

organism and its potentialities…The teacher is attempting to develop a quality of

climate in the classroom, and a quality of personal relationship with his students,

which will permit these natural tendencies to come to their fruition” (Rogers,

1969, p.114-115). Underlying Rogers’ practical suggestion is a fundamental

assumption that humans have an internal mechanism driving them to seek out new

experiences and ideas. He trusts that a child will seek out the learning that he or

she will need to engage adaptively in the world and with one another. Roger’s

emphasis on strong interpersonal connections lends itself to the social challenges

of autism.

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Rogerian education in practice. Researchers have examined Rogers’ ideas

to see how they might support children in today’s classrooms. Gatongi (2008)

suggests that Rogers’ person-centered approach, utilizing the core conditions of

“empathy,” “congruence” or authenticity, and “unconditional positive regard,”

can be utilized in a classroom setting (p.206). She says these conditions would

produce a “cooperative environment…[for] effective teaching and learning,

together with academic and social growth of pupils” (Gatongi, p.208). She

suggests that if children are motivated to learn, then they will be more inclined to

develop self-discipline and to make healthy choices. An atmosphere of respect

and trust in the person’s innate capacity to grow enhances this motivation.

Though the behaviors of autistic children may be different than their peers,

teachers need not adopt different standards for them. Perhaps, rather, a deeper

appreciation for the child is needed to support these children in a society that is

bewildered by difference.

Smith (1997, 2004) argues that Rogers’ engagement within the inner world

of the client is actually problematic because it removes the dialogical component

of social interaction. He takes the philosophical position that a “fusion of a

number of perspectives, not the entering into of one” is more healing both in the

realms of therapy and education (Gadamer, 1979 in Smith, 1997, 2004, p.3).

Entering the world of a child with autism, or attempting to do so, might take away

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an opportunity for that child to experience true social interaction with adults and

peers who are unlike him. However, the author would argue that an attitude of

continuous, genuine empathy for the autistic child’s sensory and emotional

experience is a crucial first step. Such an attitude provides all children with the

physical comfort and emotional safety necessary to face a range of social

experiences. It is simply that autistic children may be more sensitive to the

physical and emotional stimuli in the environment. They often need extra

encouragement to feel welcome and comfortable enough to relate to others.

In a longitudinal study, Harrington, Block and Block (1987) use Rogers’

theory to examine the effect of such environments. These researchers describe

Rogers’ creative learning environment as one that offers “psychological safety

and psychological freedom” by respecting and empathizing with children as they

are rather than comparing them to others, and by offering children opportunities

for “unrestricted symbolic expression” (Harrington et. al, 1987, p.851). They find

a correlation between creativity within the early environment of preschoolers and

creative potential in adolescence. Though this research does not examine the

population of children on the autism spectrum directly, it seems that the findings

would be particularly relevant to them. Such an environment might challenge

autistic children to expand upon routine activities. It might offer them an

alternative to the judgmental and conformist environments in which they are

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regarded as deficient. Rogers’ vision promotes optimal learning in all children

by honoring it as a universal, developmental process that can be facilitated by the

right conditions.

Creativity, Play and Trust: Winnicott’s Facilitating Environment

Healthy development. Like Rogers, Winnicott honors growth as a creative

experience. He too conceptualizes the healthy conditions in which people develop

and thrive irrespective of genetic constitution or psychological disposition.

According to Winnicott, when children are free to play in a facilitating

environment, they develop security and self-awareness (Winnicott, 1965). The

environment of school must also be thought of in terms of its facilitative value. It

is the context of the majority of children’s daily life, the arena of sensory

impressions where both cognitive and social learning takes place. In school,

children develop social identities by exploring relationships with teachers and

peers. The impact of the school environment is arguably heightened for autistic

children, due to both the nature of autism and the transition that these children

make from intensive early intervention services to preschool and kindergarten

classrooms.

Winnicott also talks about the importance of play. According to Winnicott

(1971), the capacity for play is a powerful skill that allows children (and adults) to

mediate between the dreams and expectations of their inner worlds and the

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relationships and realities of their external one. He writes that there “is a direct

development from transitional phenomena to playing, and from playing to shared

playing, and from this to cultural experiences” (Winnicott, p.69). Winnicott

honors the organic progress of a child’s play as more than a pastime or a source of

symbolic communication. He suggests that if left to his or her own creative

devices, a child will use play as a stepping stone to social and emotional

maturation. Like Rogers, Winnicott suggests that adults can trust children to

actively participate in their own mental and emotional development.

How does a caregiver or teacher support this developmental process?

Winnicott (1971) suggests that adults can create a healthy playground for

experimentation, in which children can experience the joys of connection. He

writes:

The potential space between baby and mother, between child and family,between individual and society or the world, depends on experience whichleads to trust… it is here that the individual experiences creative living. Bycontrast, exploitation of this area leads to a pathological condition inwhich the individual is cluttered up with persecutory elements of which hehas no means of ridding himself.(p. 139)

According to Winnicott (1971), when a child is free to engage and explore, when

a child is encouraged to build upon his or her unique strengths and ideas, he or

she builds a sense of trust in oneself, in familial relationships, in peer

relationships and in the greater community. On the other hand, when parents or

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teachers reject a child’s imaginative creations or expect them meet normative

standards, the child is cut off from his or her openness to play and

experimentation. The young person is no longer able to trust him or herself—or

others—enough to continue learning and relating.

Facilitating social engagement. Winnicott’s observations are extremely

useful in understanding the interpersonal lives of children on the autism spectrum.

These children often seem content to remain in their inner worlds. They play

independently. Some appear satisfied to maintain this experience rather than

moving to the next steps of parallel play and shared engagement with peers. They

may be so happy and safe in their imaginative worlds that they do not wish to

explore their friends’ interests. But what might appear to be lack of social

motivation actually has much to do with the way that these children experience

the people in their environment, time and time again. They may become

discouraged from taking social risks because when they do so, they struggle to

interpret social cues of their peers and consequently have negative or frightening

experiences.

The nuanced and nonverbal elements of communication are confusing to

many autistic children. Children with autism often struggle to discern and mirror

the emotional valence of their peers’ communications. According to Stern (1985),

this “sharing of affective states is of paramount importance during the first part of

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intersubjective relatedness” and contributes to children’s sense of safety and

self-esteem (p.133). Unfortunately, young peers, also learning to be social beings,

have trouble adjusting to situations filled with misunderstanding. They may walk

away or act out in unkind ways. Thus, autistic children are at risk for “minor

failures in intersubjectivity [that] can be interpreted, experienced, and acted upon

as total ruptures in a relationship” (Stern, p.136). The school playground is a

challenging place to recover from hurt feelings. Frequent negative experiences

can decrease self-esteem and reinforce isolative behaviors.

How can this vicious cycle be broken? Children gain experience with

emotional attunement “from their interactions with their own behavior and bodily

processes and by watching, testing and reacting to the social behaviors that

impinge on and surround them (Stern, 1985, p.160). A nonjudgmental

environment offers children an opportunity to establish and explore a sense of self

within a larger group (Shields, 2001). Many early intervention programs, such as

Greenspan’s DIR approach (Peloquin, 2001), suggest that joining a child in his or

her world helps the child to enjoy social experience. Likewise, school settings can

offer children support as they face more complex social interactions. Activities

and projects that incorporate individual interests can offer opportunities for

children to display their talents. Communities that value tolerance, diversity, and

teamwork can help children value one another for their strengths and

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contributions to the group. Though children on the autism spectrum will

continue to have trouble with attunement, they might be better able to withstand

minor social misunderstandings if they have a strong foundation of belonging and

self-worth.

Sensory experience in a facilitating environment. Winnicott’s concept of a

facilitating environment also includes physical and sensory elements that are of

particular significance to children with autism. Florescent lights, lunchroom

screaming, hard chairs and itchy rugs are all elements of the school environment

that have the power to impact autistic children deeply. Limited time for running

around often disrupts sensory regulation, and can lead to tantrums, inattention and

tears. Ayres (2005) describes the extensive impact of sensory challenges. She

writes: “The being who cannot consistently and accurately perceive his physical

environment well, or act effectively upon that environment, lacks the basic

material for organizing more complex behavior…He is likely to have trouble in

many areas, including speech, self-care and emotionally based behavior” (Ayres,

2005, p.135). In addition, these challenges can reduce children’s motivation for

engaging in novel activities and can raise their anxiety in crowded social

environments (Stephens, 1997).

Clearly, alleviating sensory challenges is crucial. Ayres argues that while

sensory integration therapy cannot “cure” children with autism, “therapy

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involving sensory experiences…can be more effective than drugs,

psychological analysis, or rewards and punishment in helping the brain and body

to develop optimally” (Ayres, p. 135-139). This point here is not that sensory

integration therapy, offered in the field of occupational therapy, trumps all other

interventions. It is rather that optimal sensory experiences, woven throughout a

child’s daily life, can have a pronounced and pervasive impact. A child who

benefits from deep pressure can squeeze a ball to regulate appropriately during

class. A child overwhelmed by loud noises can be permitted to take a break in a

quiet area. The sensitivity of therapists and educators to autistic children’s sensory

needs is necessary in order to create a facilitating environment in educational

settings.

Research shows that musical interventions are particularly powerful. Sedar

(1997) reviews literature on the role of music and movement in facilitating

language development in autistic children. He cites research by Seaton (1973) that

demonstrates a correlation between musical activities (emphasizing listening and

distinguishing sounds) and improvement on the Vineland Social Maturity Scale

and Letier International Performance Scales among “neurologically challenged

children” (Sedar, 1997, p.9). Ideally, autistic children could have access to these

activities within the school day, rather than having to attend after-school

interventions when they might be tired or open to spending time with friends.

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A New Standard

Current trends in education. Hawes (2007) explains that play is missing

from public school. He writes that while “children’s play has the potential to

greatly inform early childhood practice and to be used more effectively in meeting

academic and therapeutic needs …present trends…[are] to minimize school

recess periods in favor of more time behind a desk” (Hawes, 2007, p.2). Current

educational trends such as the No Child Left Behind Act emphasize early literacy

tasks over creative activities and free time for exploration (Hawes, 2007).

Children are also missing opportunities to develop through sensory

awareness. Ayres (2005) observes:

Society is placing more emphasis on language, academic and intellectualdevelopment, and less on building the sensorimotor foundations for thesehigher functions. Television, videos and computer games have socaptivated children that they spend less time on swings or in sandboxes.(p.142)

Schools could offer children an opportunity to use their imaginations, to tune into

their sensory experiences and to engage in creative activities even amidst their

adventures in modern technology. However, the trend is to streamline curricula to

meet standardized test scores in math, reading and writing. Children miss the

precious chance to discover and build their individual strengths. They may shut

down or act out in the classroom. And they may be at increased risk for

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developing “pathological” conditions (Winnicott, 1971, p.139) related to self-

identity and interpersonal connection.

What might explain these trends? Why might it be so difficult for adults

to allow children to play? As so many schools rely on standardized test scores for

funding, they must produce literate children in order to keep the buildings

standing. As Gomez and Smart (2008) suggest, “institutional and political

dynamics, in particular the contemporary regulatory culture, tend to erode and

suppress the potential for working creatively” (Gomez & Smart, 2008, p. 1). In a

society that honors specialization, predictability, and power, it may be challenging

for adults to relinquish control over children. It takes a tremendous amount of

trust to honor a child’s ability to evolve through an innate process. It may be

difficult for educators to truly believe that a child will naturally build upon his or

her artistic interests and develop intellectually. In particular, educators and

therapists working with autistic children at critical ages of language development

likely feel immense pressure to “fix” them through directive interventions.

To embrace Winnicott’s paradigm, adults who work with both typically

developing children and with children on the autism spectrum must trust that a

child’s play is an organic process out of which intellectual and social development

naturally emerges. To adults who wish to do something so that the child will

move beyond play, Winnicott emphasizes, “playing is doing” (Winnicott, 1971,

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p.55). Adults can challenge themselves to recognize that by not imposing

external expectations on a child, a child will develop on his or her own terms.

Winnicott suggests that play is an “intensely real” experience in itself, such that

the interpretations of a psychotherapist can be unnecessary, or even intrusive to

the natural healing experience of play (Winnicott, 1971, p.68). He uses his

observations of child development to advise, to reassure and to challenge

clinicians with his message: people have internal wisdom that manifests in play.

His message has powerful implications.

Changing the paradigm. Rogers and Winnicott contribute a new lens with

which to examine the education of autistic children. They challenge the

assumption that the children need to be fixed or cured. Many early interventions

facilitate communication, welcoming the child into the world of others. This

crucial tool allows the children to voice their needs, to experience being heard,

and to develop objective and subjective independence. However, on another

extreme, if children who present with symptoms of autism spectrum disorders at

an early age learn to modify their behaviors such that they appear to be

indistinguishable from their peers, what is gained for them? What is gained in our

society and what is lost?

Rogers and Winnicott also challenge the assumption that autistic children,

if left in unstructured environments, do not have the capacity to develop to their

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full potentials. What it would mean for a child to thrive in such a way? Are

creativity, emotional safety and joy present in special education programs? These

questions must be addressed if we are to truly consider what is best for the

growing number of autistic children on our planet.

In this research, the author adopts the ideals of Rogers and Winnicott to

create a new standard of education for autistic children. The study is based on the

assumptions that school environments should 1) honor individual strengths, 2)

stimulate the creative process and 3) trust innate developmental processes rather

than imposing external standards of achievement. How might these criteria be met

in an educational model for autistic children?

Curative Education

A philosophy. Curative education is an approach that seems to meet these

criteria and the greater vision of Rogers and Winnicott. The model is based on

anthroposophy, an extensive philosophy of human development, education,

biodynamic farming and medicine developed by Rudolf Steiner in the early

twentieth century. Curative Education is based on a series of lectures given by

Steiner in 1924, when children with special needs had been granted the right to

education but were still regarded as abnormal and deficient (Steiner, 1998;

Luxford, 1994). That year, a group of doctors and therapists founded the first

school of curative education in Lauenstein, Switzerland (Luxford, 1994). Steiner

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encouraged the founders to “reveal and express what was in danger of

remaining hidden” and to change the name from the “Home for Pathological and

Epileptic Children” to “Children in Need of Special Care of the Soul ” (Luxford,

1994, p.28). This name captures Steiner’s view that children with special needs

have unique qualities that must be nurtured and honored, and that these qualities

can be lost if external standards are forced upon them (Luxford, 1994).

Curative education, emphasizing fundamental respect for the child and the

therapeutic power of relationship, is consistent with Winnicott’s, Rogers’ and

Stern’s conceptualizations. Steiner’s image of education is strikingly reminiscent

of Winnicott’s facilitating environment (Winnicott, 1965). Steiner writes:

…the educator must provide for the right physical environment… taken inthe widest imaginable sense. It includes not only what goes on around thechild in the material sense, but everything that takes place in the child’senvironment—everything that can be perceived by his senses, that can workfrom the surrounding physical space upon the inner powers of the child.(Steiner, 2008,1965, 1909, p.13)

Steiner argues that children learn through imitation, so that the emotional tones,

words and actions of people in their environment deeply impact their sense of the

world and of themselves within it. His ideas are similar to Stern’s (1985)

conceptualization of the role of imitation and attunement in healthy child

development. Steiner also states the need for “the joy of the child, in and with his

environment... Teachers he needs with happy look and manner, and above all with

an honest unaffected love” (Steiner, 2008,1965, 1909, p.16). The quality of the

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influential physical and psychological space that Steiner envisions is ripe with

the authenticity, respect and “unconditional positive regard” that is crucial to

Rogers (Kirschenbaum & Henderson, 1989, p.135-136).

The philosophy of curative education also contains the three elements of

education that are highlighted in the literature. These include honoring individual

strengths, stimulating creativity and trusting the innate developmental process.

First, curative education is a strengths-based approach that honors the individual

gifts of each child. Juul and Maier (1992) write that, “Above all, curative

education is a matter of attitude. The teacher approaches pupils with reverence

and humility, recognizing the healing value of the mutual relationship” (p.213).

Second, creativity and art are fundamental to curative education. The approach

incorporates creative activities as a tool through which children can develop

adaptive skills, social connection and self-confidence (Dancy, 2004). Educators

and therapists are encouraged to engage in creative practices and to have creative

attitudes. For example, they collaborate across disciplines and adjust their

interventions with team input (Luxford, 1994).

Finally, Steiner suggests that the teacher’s role is to facilitate the

emergence of the child’s inherent strengths, to feel connected to others, and to

establish a sense of self (Wilkinson, 1993). Curative education is not about

“imparting knowledge” but rather about “using teaching material to develop

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capacities, release and enhance creativity” (Wilkinson, 1993, p.38). Schwartz

(2008) notes that in Waldorf education, “we are dealing with activities, with

processes, rather than with ‘products’ ” (p.138). The intention behind curative

education clearly aligns with the educational and therapeutic ideals of Rogers and

Winnicott and with the philosophical stance of this research.

Spirituality in curative education. Curative education is unique in that it

stems from a holistic, spiritual understanding of human development. Like many

psychologists, Steiner integrates physical and psychological realities, but he adds

spiritual dimensions to his epistemology. He delineates four elements that “are of

immediate concern” to educators because they develop and interact in different

ways during distinct stages in a child’s life (Wilkinson, 1993). These elements

include the “physical body,” the “etheric or life-body,” the “sentient or astral

body” and the “ego” (Steiner, 2008, 1965, 1909, p.3-7). In general terms, the

“physical body” is material form; the “etheric body” is the energy driving growth

and physical processes, the “astral body” is the medium of emotions and

sensations, and the “ego” is awareness of self (Wilkinson, 1993, p.26). Curative

education is designed to attend to each of these areas as they connect to the

specific challenges that the children face.

Steiner’s spiritual emphasis provides an underlying strengths-based

perspective in understanding and guiding children. In Waldorf or Steiner schools,

23

teachers are encouraged to meditate on each child in the classroom in order to

appreciate the child’s strengths as a human being (Dancy, 2004). Steiner also

writes specifically about the spiritual essence within children with special needs,

an inner element that transcends the limitations of his or her physical body. He

asserts, “a child’s spiritual integrity remains intact regardless of the nature and the

severity of a disability that may be physical, sensory, mental, emotional, or social,

or a combination of any of these” (Juul & Maier, 1992, p.213). The goals of

curative education are therefore not different than those of Waldorf general

education. Additional elements simply help to remove barriers that prevent

children from developing to their full potential (Luxford, 1994; Weihs, 1987).

Practical components of curative education. The ideals of curative

education are abstract and the goals ambitious. How do its programs attempt to

meet them? For one, curative education fuses therapeutic and educational

services. It “includes elements of psychology, psychiatry, and pediatrics, as well

as special education... physio- and occupational therapy, curative eurythmy,

speech therapy, the various handicrafts, and the arts” (Juul & Maier, 1992, p.213).

Hart and Monteux (2004) summarize four dimensions of learning within the

“multidisciplinary” approach of curative education: “education in the widest

sense,” “crafts and work,” “therapeutic approach,” and “care” (p. 67-71). Daily

schedules consist of activities within each of these areas, tailored to the specific

24

strengths and challenges of each child. Art, music, movement, didactics and

skills of daily living are woven throughout. Created eighty years ago to support

children with a variety of physical, mental and emotional disabilities, this model

incorporates elements of cutting edge interventions for autistic children.

Curative educators embrace the notion that children with distinct

presentations benefit from one another in specific and profound ways. For

example, Weihs (1987) writes that children with autism and children with downs

syndrome benefit from spending time together as they have opposing social

orientations to the world. Able-bodied children may gain self-confidence by

assisting peers with physical disabilities. In this setting, “older and younger

children, boys and girls, severely retarded children and young offenders

can…experience mutual needs and mutual help” (Weihs, 1972 in Jackson, 1993,

p.29). The children engage in some activities one-on-one with a specialist, and

engage in others in the company of other children with a variety of special needs.

Thus, they address challenges and develop strengths independently, but also have

opportunities to grow socially throughout the day.

In the pedagogical component of curative education programs, students

follow the Waldorf school curriculum, in which they learn through project-based

main lessons (Dancy, 2004). In this holistic or “wide” curriculum, children’s

“social, cognitive and sensory capacities are fostered” (Hart & Monteux, 2004,

25

p.69). The schools emphasize imagination, play, and creativity, particularly in

the early years from birth to seven years of age. Kindergarten classrooms are

equipped with simple, open-ended toys such as pieces of colored fabric and

faceless wool dolls to foster imagination and pretend play (Schwartz, 2008).

Creative activities such as painting, woodcarving, singing, and playing musical

instruments continue throughout elementary and secondary school. Each class

curriculum is unique to the developmental qualities of that age, from the color of

the classroom to the means of presenting subject matter (Koetzsch, 2004).

The Waldorf curriculum also incorporates sensory experience into the

learning environment. Open-ended, sensory activities in kindergarten help

children to child to create a deep physiological connection that serves as a crucial

foundation for later conceptual learning (Schwartz, 2008). The schools flourish

despite the general trend, in which “kindergarten teachers are expected to teach

the child to read, when they often should be providing opportunities for the child

to enhance his basic sensory functions—and these better sensory functions would

make reading and writing easier to learn later on in school” (p.142). In the later

years, rhythm, creative arts and practical skills continue to be taught alongside

traditional subjects of math and language (Koetzsch, 2004). Activities such as

knitting, playing the flute and taking walks add fine motor and gross motor skill

components to the daily schedule, areas that often need extra time and practice

26

among autistic children and that are crucial in self-regulation.

Students of curative education learn outside the classroom as they engage

in “crafts and work” (Hart & Monteux, 2004, p.70). Crafts include hands on fine

arts such as weaving and carpentry; work includes gardening and household

chores such as cooking and washing. The mastery of these tasks helps “to

stimulate neurological and cognitive processes and develop motor skills” as well

as engenders “self confidence and joy of achievement ” (Hart & Monteux, 2004,

p.70). The variety of activities allows children to pursue different interests, to

discover talents and to have tangible products of their efforts.

The final two components of curative education are “therapeutic

approach” and “care” (Hart & Monteux, 2004, p.70). Individualized treatments

include both traditional medical services and a range of complementary,

anthroposophical therapies. These additional elements might include play therapy,

curative eurythmy (anthroposophical sound and movement therapy), riding

therapy, art therapy, and music therapy (Luxford, 1994). A team coordinates these

services and together they decide which therapies would benefit the particular

child. In addition, curative educators consider the physical and social

environments to be therapeutic elements. The natural aesthetic of the physical

environment is valued for its therapeutic effect. Finally, “care” refers to learning

skills of independent and community living (Hart & Monteux, 2004, p.70).

27

Students practice making healthy lifestyle choices, take on responsibilities in

their homes and have opportunities for social connection.

In sum, curative education is a potentially strong match for children on the

autism spectrum for a number of reasons. First, the goals of education are

consistent with those of Rogers and Winnicott. Second, emphasizing creativity,

play and the whole child, these schools seem to embody Winnicott’s facilitative

environment, and Rogers’ description of creativity in the classroom. Third,

highlighting the sensory experience of the child in different stages of

development, these schools infuse elements of sensory integration that have been

proven effective with children on the autism spectrum (Ayers, 2005). Finally, the

way in which Steiner defines spirituality and incorporates it into education has the

potential to help children build confidence and to develop meaningful

interpersonal connections.

Implications for research. Research on the efficacy of Waldorf schools is

sparse, but growing. Oberman (2007) uses quantitative and qualitative methods to

demonstrate outcomes for children in general education Waldorf schools. She

notes that the Gates Foundation, the “world’s larges education funder,”

established the first U.S. public Waldorf school in Sacramento, California

(Oberman, 2007, p.4). In her study, Oberman uses scores on California State

Standardized tests to analyze Waldorf student performance. She finds that the

28

students present with low scores in earlier grades and high scores in later ones,

as compared to same-aged peers in public schools. This pattern likely reflects the

Waldorf curriculum’s emphasis on creativity and play in the early years as the

other schools push literacy (Oberman, 2007). As Winnicott might suggest, the

teachers in the Waldorf schools trust that play will pay off. This research is

helpful in that it is consistent with the language of urban public school reform.

However, Oberman’s (2007) use of standardized test scores as a means of

comparison would be less helpful in evaluating programs for children on the

autism spectrum who have distinct learning patterns. Moreover, they are not

consistent with the open-ended goals of curative education.

Traditional research on curative education is challenging because Steiner

himself espouses experiential discovery. He bases curative education on his own

experience tutoring children with special needs (Luxford, 1994). And though he

offers a detailed philosophy and methodology of education, Steiner maintains that

the humans understand themselves and the world through firsthand experience,

through direct sensory interaction with the world, rather than through pure

pedagogy (Steiner, 2008, 1965, 1909). Waldorf schools and teacher training

programs, including curative education training programs, emphasize experiential

learning (Camphill, 2006). Comparing schools within this paradigm is difficult

because the experiential criterion results in variance across programs.

29

Curative education is also a potentially insular system. The spiritual

mindset of practitioners and their willingness to, at least on some level, adopt

Steiner’s epistemology lends itself to a kind of philosophical or ideological

homogeneous community. The specialists of curative education are trained in

Waldorf education and anthroposophical therapies. Parents must be willing to

accept that literacy is taught much later than in public schools (Dancy, 2004). In

the United States, Waldorf schools are private, though a growing number of

Waldorf-methods charter schools combine public school requirements with

Waldorf philosophy (Dancy, 2004). The public education and national health care

systems in the United States make curative education programs accessible only to

more affluent families, though this is not the case around the world.

Thus, within the culture of anthroposophy and its unique psycho-spiritual,

sociological context, researchers may find powerful ways to facilitate the

development of autistic children. The insularity of this culture alongside

mainstream assumptions may be barriers to shared knowledge about the benefits

of curative education. In the current socio-cultural milieu of the United States,

many people experience tension and anxiety when faced with non-traditional,

spiritual terminology. Yet it is possible that curative education is not an all-or-

nothing approach. And, as Luxford (1994) writes, “All children are engaged in

integrating their evolving self into their constitutional bodily reality and into their

30

social and cultural context” (p. 59). Curative education may offer autistic

children a unique opportunity to be appreciated for emergent, multi-faceted

strengths rather than be seen as deficient along narrow skill sets. This research

holds awareness of the culture of curative education with the intention of

discovering what, if any, elements of this model might be applicable to all

children.

The Camphill Schools

History of Camphill. Today, children with special needs are served in

more than 550 curative education programs worldwide that share a common

philosophy but vary widely in practice (Camphill Special School, 2008). Due to

the variance across schools, this research will focus on one type of curative

education program. The model chosen for this research, a subset of curative

education, is a community-based movement called Camphill (Juul & Maier,

1996).

The Camphill movement originated in the mind of Austrian physician and

anthroposophist Karl Konig. He envisioned a means of applying curative

education within an entire community. He and a few colleagues, fleeing the Nazi

invasion, founded the first Camphill School in Aberdeen, Scotland in 1940

(Jackson, 2006). As his contemporaries established communities or “kibbutzim”

31

in Israel, Konig created a community of shared finances, resources, and

responsibilities geared toward the wellbeing of children with special needs.

Communities of respect. A fundamental premise of Camphill is that the

children are honored as equal and valuable members of the community (Jackson,

2006). In these communities, children or “pupils” live among aids or “co-

workers” along with “house parents” or “house coordinators” (Hart & Monteux,

2004, p.69). Some children go home to their families in the evenings or on

weekends, but all are included in designated houses in which they eat meals,

engage in social activities and often have independent responsibilities.

The stated goal of education in Camphill schools is to honor and facilitate

each child’s individual growth process (Weihs, 1987). Dr. Thomas Weihs (1987),

one of the founders, writes, “Our task as educators will not be to help the child to

become ‘normal,’ but to remove some of the rocks and boulders that lie on his

path of development” (p. 5). This philosophy, asserted at the onset Camphill’s

establishment, provides the basis for all interventions offered. It is an ambitious

and process-oriented goal that contrasts the predominant outcome-based goals of

many programs for children with special needs.

According to The Camphill Rudolf Steiner Schools Provision for Autistic

Spectrum Disorders (2007), the communities offer a number of elements that

benefit autistic children specifically. This document states that Camphill offers

32

autistic children a sense of security and predictability through regularly

scheduled activities and meals; reduces anxiety by incorporating relaxation and

non-directive therapeutic interventions; and incorporates sensory integration

throughout the daily activities as well as in specialized treatments.

The Camphill movement is proliferating worldwide. There are now 50

Camphill communities in the UK and Ireland as well as ten in North America

(Camphill, 2008). Camphill communities are present in Botswana, India,

Germany, Finland, Russia, Norway, South Africa, Switzerland and the Czech

Republic (Camphill, 2008). With a strong philosophical base and over sixty years

of practice, these established communities are likely to be a rich source of insight.

Research on the Camphill model is warranted to see what it might offer to

clinicians, researchers, educators and families working with school-aged children

on the autism spectrum.

33

Chapter Two: Design & Method

Design

Purpose of Study. The purpose of this study was to explore how one

Camphill community creates a facilitating environment for children with autism.

The case study used the research ideology of interpretive phenomenological

analysis in an exploration of the author’s experience within a Camphill

community. In accordance with the literature discussed above, the research was

based on the following two assumptions: 1) a facilitating environment is

necessary to create conditions of healing and learning and 2) subjective

experience is an important component of data.

The environment was captured as the culture of the community. Culture

was defined as “the beliefs, customs, practices, and social behavior of a particular

nation or people” and as “a particular set of attitudes that characterizes a group of

people” (Microsoft Corporation, 1999). This definition encompasses values,

attitudes, social norms and physical features that together would impact its

facilitative value (Winnicott, 1965). Specifically, the author identified dimensions

of the Camphill community that emerged from observations of the program’s

structural elements, as well as from the author’s subjective experience of living

within the community.

34

Phenomenology. The choice of methodology of this study was based on

the scientific stance of Rogers and Winnicott. Rogers espouses phenomenological

methods of scientific inquiry (Kirschenbaum & Henderson, 1989). He describes

the ideal qualities of a psychological discovery: “The more that it is based on all

sensory avenues, upon unconscious intuitions as well as cognitive insights, the

more adequate it is likely to be. I regard this sensing of a pattern of relationships

as perhaps the heart of all true science” (Kirschenbaum & Henderson, p.272).

Rogers challenges psychologists to conduct research by immersing themselves in

new environments with openness, curiosity, trust in intuitive perceptions, passion

and dedication (Kirschenbaum & Henderson). To meet this challenge, and to gain

a profound understanding of the Camphill model, the author conducted an

exploratory case study of one Camphill community (Tellis, 2007). Following the

model of a case study that examines factors contributing to excellence in an urban

high school (Ahuja, 2007), the author has presented assumptions about criteria for

meaningful education and has chosen one school where such criteria appear to be

met.

The theoretical basis and methodology of this research was also informed

by Michel Foucault’s articulation of the interaction between society and

psychopathology. He writes: “The contemporary world makes schizophrenia

possible, not because its events render it inhuman and abstract, but because our

35

culture reads the world in such a way that man himself cannot recognize

himself in it” (Foucault, 1963, p. 84). This statement reflects the inseparability of

mental health from social context. Foucault’s asks his readers to acknowledge that

an individual’s sense of normalcy is largely dependent upon the extent to which

she sees herself mirrored in others. His message is poignantly applicable to

autistic children, whose challenge is precisely to adapt and recognize themselves

within the social environment of school. It follows that one must look at the

values of a society in order to gain insight into the inner experience of its

members. Therefore, the values of the Camphill community, and people’s

perceptions of those values, were of central importance in the data. They were

captured and organized thematically as elements of the perceived culture.

Foucault (1963) might also argue that distinct perceptions of social

constructs among members of—and visitors to—a community make neutrality

impossible. The author followed in the tradition of Foucault by engaging the

subjective reality rather denying it. The data analysis included people’s similar

and distinct perceptions of the community culture. Honoring the inevitable effects

of cultural context on all observations and perceptions, the author included her

subjective experience as a dynamic variable in this research. The results have

been presented in the first person and in the present tense in order to emphasize

this element.

36

Finally, the author used a qualitative approach because quantitative

research comparing children across school systems, using standardized measures,

is not consistent with the theoretical foundation of this study. Rather, using

Rogers’ views of education, the author followed this psychologists’ research

ideology: qualitative, phenomenological methodology (Rogers, 1969; Smith,

2003). In addition, the author sought to understand the Waldorf method by

utilizing the experiential epistemology emphasized by Steiner himself (Wilkinson,

1993). The research ideology and methodology of a phenomenological case study

(Smith, 2003) meet these criteria.

Method

Setting and framework. The author chose a Camphill Rudolf Steiner

School outside of the United States as the subject of study. This community is one

of the largest of its kind and happens also to be a center of training. International

students live, work and study in the community alongside resident teachers,

therapists and house coordinators.

The author contacted the school with a request to visit in order to conduct

research on interventions for autistic children that may be applicable to public

school programs in the United States. The author’s role within the community

(i.e. silent observer, inquisitive researcher, active participant, and/or support to

37

staff) was a core element of the research itself rather than a pre-determined

construct. Administrators, teachers and a house coordinator organized the details

of the author’s stay in a way that minimized disruption for pupils and met the

needs of staff. In this way, the nature of the visit served as a powerful source of

information about the culture of the community. The author also took steps to see

that her impact on the residents would not be discredited as a limiting variable but

rather explored as a source of data. An attestation of bias is included as Appendix

A.

The author lived in a co-educational house with seven pupils, twelve co-

workers, and one house coordinator for three weeks. Because of assigned living

arrangements, the author’s bias did not impact the house community selected. The

house, like others on the estate, consisted of children who present with autism,

cerebral palsy, Downs syndrome, social-emotional challenges and other

neurological disorders. Pupils ranged in age from 8 to 15. Approximately half of

them were non-verbal. The author had her own room and shared a bathroom with

pupils, as did other staff members in the house.

The author engaged in house responsibilities such as dishwashing,

cleaning, and preparing meals. In addition, she attended house activities such as

barbeques and weekly singing evenings as well as school-wide activities such as

festivals, performances and services. The author sought to attune to the rhythm of

38

the community, following the morning, afternoon and evening schedule of

pupils and co-workers. She took one day “off” per week to mirror the experience

of the other staff.

Sources of data. The researcher collected data using means made available

by the administrator and house coordinator. These means included: conversing

with teachers and therapists about their experiences and ideologies; participating

in house activities; attending pupils’ classes, workshops and extra-curricular

activities; observing group and individual therapies; attending educational lectures

for staff; attending school festivals and pupil performances. A staff member

scheduled the majority of the observations and conversations so that she could

monitor the impact on the residents. The author kept a journal to record events

and subjective experiences, and completed an in-depth daily journal at the end of

the three weeks. The author photographed the landscape and physical layout but

did not photograph pupils.

Analysis. The author examined the environment of Camphill by

considering the following dimensions: the school’s official core values;

perceptions of and observed manifestations of values; subjective reports about the

experience of living in the community; sensory elements of living in the

community that correspond to sensory regulation. The author identified emergent

themes within each of these categories. The data analysis included a comparison

39

of themes that emerged both within and across each data source. For example,

community values that staff described were compared to those that the researcher

observed. This method accounted for the likelihood that individuals experience

the values of a community in varying ways.

This study honored the ethical guidelines of the American Psychological

Association as well as those of The Camphill Rudolf Steiner School. The author

completed a formal application including a criminal background check, medical

evaluations and statement of purpose. Though the subject of study was an entire

community rather than individual human subjects, the researcher’s intention was

made explicitly transparent to all staff, pupils and family members. To safeguard

the confidentiality of the pupils, the author concealed all identifying information.

A Full Review Protocol was submitted and approved by the Wright Institute

Committee for the Protection of Human Subjects.

40Chapter Three: Results

Five Themes

The culture of Camphill does not manifest as a collection of values or

cognitive constructs. Rather, it is perceptible on sensory, emotional and relational

levels. The philosophies described in conversations overlap with my daily

perceptions. Individuals’ stated values come alive when I live in accordance with

them.

Five categories emerge from the thematic analysis of my journal (a record

of daily events and my reactions to them), conversations with staff, theoretical

information imparted by members of the community, and post-travel reflection.

The five categories include: Time, Nature, Spirituality, Community, and

Learning. Each category describes a dynamic that uniquely contributes to the

quality of life at Camphill, and each one is crucial in creating a therapeutic or

facilitating atmosphere. Together, these elements interact to create to a current

that flows through the community.

Time

Freedom within structure. The dynamic of time is a critical element of the

environment in this community. Like the others, it manifests as a psychological

and sensory entity. A person’s relationship to time impacts their expectations of

41what might be accomplished in a day. They may feel rushed or bored, anxious

or at ease, lonely or overcrowded. Many children on the autism spectrum have a

strong need to know what is going to happen next, and they feel overwhelmed by

the choices they face in unstructured time. Even if pupils at Camphill do not

reflect consciously upon their relationship to time, their ability to move freely

within each day is of central importance. The schedule is designed to help the

children feel comfortable, and to do so it must be adopted by the entire

community. The impact is pervasive.

Rhythm and structure. The rhythm at Camphill is created in accordance

with its members’ physical and communal nature. Time is structured to honor

human cycles of eating, resting, and moving, with particular attention to circadian

rhythms. One hour is dedicated for each meal. Exercise occurs after dinner. The

blocks of time are directly derived from nature, in contrast to the blocks of time

that are artificially constructed in a business day. Within the schedules,

individuals have the freedom to respond to their own physical and sensory cues

and move through the day at their own speed. And, interestingly, the community’s

rhythm interacts with that of the individual.

Jackson (2006) describes how the intention at Camphill is to set a rhythm

through “routine” and “ritual” and to subtly break the structure by adding

variation that children can handle (p.42). Pupils—and staff—follow a set, precise

42schedule. Within this structure the pupils are free to function at their own pace,

with a supporting coworker facilitating their movement through transitions. There

is a fixed time at which the house members convene in a sitting room, and five

minutes later a gong sounds to begin the meal. One is expected to be on time.

However, being late does not carry the tragic feeling of missing a train or the

shaming feeling of being late for a business meeting. When children cannot make

the mealtimes, they might eat separately. There is always an assigned co-worker

ready to stay behind and join a pupil who struggles to attend a meal, class,

workshop or therapy. In this way, the staff relies on one another to be guardians

of structure while the children retain ownership of time. In addition, when the

community’s schedule changes for a special event, the community members take

steps to forewarn the pupils in ways that are cognitively accessible. For example,

in a school-wide assembly, the children create a collage to depict a bonfire that

will commemorate St. John’s day later in the week.

It is one thing to read about the philosophy of rhythm, and quite another to

experience it. The structure of the daily schedule quickly becomes a source of

comfort for me. Each day, an administrator assigns me classes to visit, individuals

to consult, and therapies to observe or experience. My visits are carefully timed in

accordance with the needs of the pupils I will encounter. I shower before seven in

the morning in order to avoid disrupting a child’s routine. As the days unfold with

43unforeseen events, I catch myself wanting to know what is going to happen,

like the children. I feel confused when I step outside of the fixed schedule—either

the schedule that has been arranged for me or that of the pupils. I feel anxious

when I miss meals. One day, when a staff member offers me the opportunity to

observe a therapy in lieu of an academic lesson, I feel physically anxious at the

idea of diverging from my original plan. Will this change have any negative

impact? Is it of consequence? The rational answer is of course no, it would not.

My anxiety is connected to feelings of confusion about being out of sync. My

craving of structure seems to be due to a desire to acclimate, to be a part of the

community, and to know what is going on. It is a parallel process of the

experience of many children with ASD, and it helps me to understand how helpful

the schedule must be for them.

In some ways, I find myself to be less rigid here than in the lifestyle I left

behind. I am more relaxed and open. I actually stay and talk for the duration of the

washer to dryer cycle. I sit and join others for coffee. Within fluidity of time at

Camphill, I find it hard to create my own agenda. I write:

It is difficult to stop and insert my intention into the day. The flow of timehere is stronger than my individual day’s goals or my moment’s purpose.The children must be wading in that flow. There is structured time foreating, resting, playing, exercising, therapy. There is structure here but thecontent of the time is openness (personal journal, June 26, 2008).

44Like a person riding a horse, each member of the community is moved along

by a natural energy that is gentle and also strong. I find it challenging to let go of

my need to control my own schedule and to fall back into the rhythm of the

community. The one tool that helps me to center myself is morning meditation.

Even a few minutes of this practice, in which I can breathe at my own pace and

set an intention for the day ahead, allows me trust and let the day unfold. My

experience reinforces the notion that centering practices, offered to children

throughout their days at Camphill, further alleviate their struggle to make peace

with time.

Movement. Once I join the powerful community rhythm, pausing is not

easy. I have a hard time stopping to journal. It is clear that during my limited

down time, I need physical release, and a supervisor advises me over the phone to

enjoy walking or cycling during my free time and to journal when it feels natural

to do so. I also find it strange to stop, look back and reflect, because I am so

connected to living in the present. This experience allows me to recognize how

accustomed I have grown to spending time in the past and future. Poet T.S. Eliot

describes this common tendency:

For I have known them all already, known them all:—Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;I know the voices dying with a dying fallBeneath the music from a farther room.

45So how should I presume? (Ellman, p.586)

The narrator analyzes the small moments of his life and finds himself in

existential angst. At Camphill, time is not measured out by industrial “coffee

spoons” (Ellman, p. 586) but rather by the human rhythm of the community.

Here, the days are not about what people have accomplished, but how they have

conducted themselves. Have they challenged themselves? Have they connected to

each other in a meaningful way? Have they learned something new? It is possible

that these emphases transmit to the pupils as a sense of openness and freedom

from pressure to meet external expectations within the passing of each day.

In traditional psychotherapy, each clinical moment is followed by time spent

formulating and recording it. In this community, clinical time is fused with living,

and the moments move along continuously. This dynamic can be refreshing as

well as challenging. In one instance, a pupil engages in self-injurious behavior on

the small school bus. Anxiety ignites like a flame among the children and

escalates within the contained space. I am deeply impacted by this experience, but

soon find myself among a houseful of pupils and co-workers at lunch. The day’s

rhythm continues, asking me to carry the emotional impact of the experiences

within me, to process them as I move along with the others.

Staff time. While co-workers engage with the pupils’ experience of time, there

is a significant lack of personal time for them. Their day begins when they wake

46the children at 7am and help them get ready for the day. It ends when they

finish helping the children fall asleep at 9pm. And of course, as one staff member

says, you cannot tell a child living in your home that your shift is over. Co-

workers might have a few hours break during the day. After hours, night nurses

spend the night in each house, but a co-worker is on duty in case of an emergency.

One co-worker shares her observation that people find out what they really love

because they only have time for one hobby.

Staff members’ perceptions of personal time vary. A co-worker presents her

research findings that self-care is insufficiently addressed in the training program.

And self-care, in its simplest terms, boils down to time for oneself. A staff person

who has lived in the community for nearly thirty years shares her sense that staff

used to have much less free time, and that they lived in closer proximity to the

children. A co-worker who lived in another Camphill says this particular

community has a more demanding schedule. Another co-worker says the

opposite. The cultural background and individual character of each staff member

considerably limits the generalize-ability of self-care. Nonetheless, my perception

of the co-workers in this community is that they are passionate and exhausted.

This condition lends itself to burnout, to the detriment of themselves as well as

the pupils.

47Personally, it is difficult to discern my needs and boundaries, let alone to

assert them. Gratitude and eagerness may impact my ability to determine when to

step away from the group routine. A house coordinator and co-worker remind to

take one “day off” per week. A few weeks in, I reach out to one of therapists to

initiate a discussion about self-care. I am curious to see how community members

handle such experiences. Meeting in her home for tea, I recognize how different it

would be to have personal space—and time—outside of the pupils’ homes. She

shares that co-workers have weekly supervision with house coordinators, and

opportunities to process their experiences in house meetings. She notes that most

co-workers split their time among children to keep the work less intense. Finally,

she shares that occasionally, but rarely, some co-workers abruptly leave the

community.

Another therapist emphasizes the importance of self-care in terms of how it

impacts the children. She says that personal work is crucial as a foundation for

attunement. She suggests that this work allows a person to “respond” calmly

rather than to “react” emotionally to a child in the heat of the moment (personal

communication, June 18, 2008). This therapist does not speak directly about the

relationship between self-care and time. She insinuates that the structure at

Camphill allows this practice to flourish within staff.

48Considerations. In sum, the quality of time at Camphill is a complex

combination of structure, openness and movement. It accommodates the needs of

pupils, allowing them freedom to move at their own pace within a predictable

schedule. This quality is facilitative to pupils, but it may also compromise the

personal time and self-care of staff.

The validity of this result is limited by the fact that the eight-hour time

difference may impact my perception of time at Camphill. However, the quality

of time in this particular setting feels different than other international travel

experiences in which I have endured comparable time changes. The difference is

perceptible when I take day trips to a local city, and when I visit both urban and

rural towns upon my departure. The duration of my visit to Camphill feels much

longer than three weeks would have felt in another context. This contrast is due to

the powerful time dynamic of the community’s atmosphere.

Nature

Nature is the second indispensable element of this community. Nature has

both overt and subtle manifestations at Camphill. It is a central feature of the

shared, external environment. It is also honored as an individualized, internal

experience of sensory processes. The dynamic of nature at Camphill is described

below in terms of the physical environment and the sensory experience that is

49accessible to the children. In addition, a number of related therapies are

highlighted.

Physical environment. For small people, physical environments appear

magnified. A creek can feel like a river, and a schoolyard can become a universe.

To a child with autism, the sensory elements of these environments are even more

pronounced. Yet it is not necessary to magnify the elements of the environment of

Camphill in order to imagine its impact on the children. They are strikingly

refreshing, soothing and welcoming. I write:

The experience of driving into the estate is like opening one’s lungsto fresh air for the first time. The contrast from the outside, the darkcastles of the neighboring city, is extraordinary. Trees hover over youin an archway, surrounding you as an enchanted forest.(personal journal, June 24, 2008)

The physical environment of Camphill, both indoors and outdoors, is so

pronounced that I feel physiological shock upon exiting and re-entering. I express

my awe at the impact of the natural environment to a staff member. He agrees,

and even suggests that the natural environment is the most significant element of

healing in the community.

The community is situated 20 minutes outside an industrial city. The land

itself is comprised of forests and hills dotted with trees. Inside are horse stables,

streams, and farms with cows and produce. The narrow paved roads are wide

enough for a car, a horse, a bicycle, or a skateboard—and two of the three if all

50parties are vigilant. The community is comprised of two estates. Each has a

school, playgrounds and community buildings. Because pupils maintain the same

classroom for the duration of their schooling, some children ride a small school

bus back and forth. An able-bodied person can walk around one estate in five

minutes and between the two in twenty.

If Winnicott’s facilitating environment is a symbolic one, this environment is

literally so. Trees, birds, swing-sets, soccer fields and trampolines connect

caretakers and children. The fresh, cool air tastes clean. Like in Holland, bicycles

are the primary vehicles. They are parked or leaned outside houses, shared among

members of the community. These human-run vehicles match the speed of the

day and are sufficient for the distance one would ever need to travel. Like in

Holland, the bicycle is the primary vehicle. A sense of safety is pervasive: I find

the courage to ride for the first time in two years after a serious accident.

During the summer months, the sun rises at 3:30 in the morning and sets

11:30 in the evening. The winters here are filled with comparable epochs of

darkness. Lack of light hours must drastically alter the experience of living in the

community, so that the seasonal effect is a limitation of the research. My

experience is one of eternal daytime. Even with strong bedroom window shades,

the long days elicit within me feelings of freedom, buoyancy and playfulness.

51Like the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright, the house feels like a home

that is in harmony with its surroundings rather than one in competition with it.

Doors are unlocked during the daytime. Inside, shoes are removed. There is no

blasting television, videogame or stereo. In fact, recorded music is prohibited in

common areas. Some houses have a computer for the members to share, however

many coworkers have their own laptops. Common indoor activities include

cooking, baking, drinking tea or coffee, knitting, reading, singing, talking and

sitting together. The familiar environment of the house can serve as an anchor

from which children can re-regulate and center themselves periodically

throughout the day.

When they leave their houses and go to school, the children are not confined

within classrooms. Nature is incorporated into the school day. Second grade

begins with a walk through a forest. I am moved to see a nonverbal, quiet child

reach over and pick leaves as he walks. He brings each treasure of nature to his

ear, rubs it around, and throws it to the ground. After watching him for a while, I

pick up the same type of leaf and rub it next to my ear. I hear a soft, soothing

sound, like a whisper. I am struck by this child’s brilliance. It would never have

occurred to me to explore nature in this way. The setting, and the use of it, gives

him ample opportunities to explore the world through sound.

52Organic sensory experience. Toxic chemicals, flashing lights, loud noises

and electric impulses bombard the sensory systems of many people in modern

society. In contrast, this community embraces the anthroposophic value of

mediating electric sensory overload. The sensory stimuli that enter children’s

bodies are predominantly organic. There is a natural quality to the food, medicine,

sound, imagery and means of using one’s own body.

Holistic nourishment. The food at Camphill is almost exclusively organic, and

a large portion of the produce and meats are home grown. Many children are on

special diets—they eliminate gluten and casein, eat according to their blood type,

or follow other nutritional programs. Families and staff work together to

determine which foods would be most appropriate for each child. In the house,

co-workers vigilantly ensure that the children follow their special diets during

meals. I watch them bake special almond-flour banana bread for one pupil, and

join them in creating numerous variations of sandwiches to accommodate each

child at a school picnic. At each meal, the play therapist comes around with a tray

of small cups filled with pills and liquids. These are anthroposophical medicines,

homeopathic remedies, flower essences and vitamin supplements. I learn that the

resident medical doctors prescribe pharmaceutical drugs only as a last resort.

Auditory and visual stimuli. Nature also supplies the noise and imagery at

Camphill. Sounds predominantly come from birds, pupils and musicians. People

53are constantly strumming a guitar in the sitting room before meals, singing to a

child, or singing collectively. I join a pupils’ drumming group, and participate in a

weekly song night for members of two houses. Recorded music is not permitted in

communal rooms, however many co-workers and a few pupils play their music in

their own rooms. Though some staff may disagree with the allowance of the

musical equipment, this practice seems to support staff autonomy and the self-

expression of adolescents.

Natural imagery meets the eyes of the people in this community. Electronic

media does not bombard the children, who are surrounded by trees, flowers and

their own artwork hanging on walls. The kindergarten teacher shows me colored

fabric and dolls without faces, and she explains that these toys allow children to

generate the features in their minds. It is quite different to read about these toys

and to see them for myself. In their simplicity, they are strange and enticing. The

lack of media-based stimuli is part of the Waldorf schools’ emphasis on

imagination. The curriculum is designed to foster the natural capacity to create

internal imagery, a skill that may not develop as fully when a child receives

constant input from the outer world.

Exceptions to these rules are made, and when they are I seem to experience

sensory overload. One Saturday, co-workers decide to play a cd in the kitchen

while preparing for a special lunch. I find the music jarring and loud. In a second

54instance, I join a pupil and house coordinator on an outing to purchase an item

for an art project. In the department store, the bright lights and aisles of packaged

goods are so overwhelming to me that I cannot choose a shampoo. I decide rather

to buy one within the community’s shop, and I feel relieved when we return.

One house has a separate area for a large screen television, on which

community members congregate after hours to watch international soccer

tournaments. It is unclear whether the fervor around the World Cup drives the

staff to allow more television than usual during my stay. I may be privy to an

exception. Overall, television use seems to be limited and less desirable in this

culture.

Exercise. At Camphill, energy is expended often and in natural settings. While

many public schools are cutting funds for physical education, children in this

community have ample opportunity to exercise. Swinging is most popular among

children with a range of disabilities. In addition, cycling, jumping on trampolines,

swimming and horse riding are physical activities that are excellent stimulation

for the vestibular and proprioceptive processes of autistic children. I find physical

movement to be critical for my own energy release. Moving helps me to step

outside the collective pace and to check in with my own energy. Riding a bicycle

allows me to release some of the tension I have taken in from so many people,

and to reconnect with my own emotions. The options available for physical

55release here contrast those of gym culture, in which people exercise in enclosed

settings, on electric machines and with artificial lighting. Here, most activities

occur outdoors, allowing children to breathe the fresh air and to engage in an

expansive setting by the light of the sun.

Sensory therapies. A number of unique therapies use nature as a source of

healing. These therapies relate to all five themes, but their relationship to nature is

most salient. Horse riding, massage therapy, Color Light and Listening Space

offer children a means of connecting to themselves within the surroundings.

These therapies, as practiced in this community, facilitate the healthy functioning

of the children’s senses so that they can feel comfortable in their own selves, as

well as into their physical and social environments. The complex theory of the

sensory system in anthroposophy is outside the scope of this paper. 1 However, by

observing and experiencing these therapies, I recognize their balancing, calming

and activating effects. They seem to enhance the lives of the children by helping

them to experience their internal and external environments with openness and

peace.

1Steiner suggests that in addition to the traditional five senses, people have a sense of “wellbeing,movement, balance, warmth, language, thought, and other” (Ralph, 2005-2008, p.2). He groupsthe senses into three categories: the body senses, the environmental senses, and the social senses.Curative educators address how and if each of these senses is functioning in order to understandthe child’s sensory experience.

56Horse riding. Horse riding incorporates exercise, deep pressure,

balance, movement, and connection to an animal in an outdoor setting. The riding

therapist suggests that riding can be difficult for children because the horse’s body

is quite warm, moves at its own rhythm, and displaces them from their “center of

gravity” (personal communication, June 29, 2008) She uses a cloth saddle to

moderate the temperature. And she says that in her experience, many children can

surrender control to the horse and find the activity exciting and fun. In fact, she

finds children who are lethargic or reluctant to participate in their daily routine are

particularly motivated for riding. I observe this phenomenon among pupils in the

house.

The emotional impact of horse riding is also profound. The riding therapist

notes that she sees a different side of children than the other staff. Primarily, she

sees less aggression. Sitting bareback on a horse, I see children switch from

anxious and irritable to calm and quiet within a matter of moments. Finally, this

therapist notes that some children have a relationship with the horse whereas

others appear to treat it as an object. Unsure of how the therapist would categorize

this child, I watch him cling to the horse after the lesson in a full body hug. I

wonder whether some children’s ways of relating to this majestic animal might

simply be less visible.

57Perhaps unsurprisingly, due to exposure to animal training, this riding

teacher uses the most behaviorist interventions I witness at Camphill. She tells

children, “pat the horse” or “close your mouth” (personal communication, June

29, 2008) and leads the horse to trot (a highly desirable activity) when they do so.

I learn that according to principles of anthroposophy, keeping one’s mouth closed

aids in balance and centers a person the body. Thus, behavioral goals seem to

align with the greater goals of holistic health and sensory regulation. Still, some

staff members express to me their dissention about the methods used in the horse

riding therapy. I am eager to try for myself.

The experience of horse riding exceeds my expectations. The stable, a

five-minute walk from the room where I sleep, feels like its own world. I write:

I slip onto the horse and soon we trot out of the stable, around the estate!Rather than receiving much of a lesson, I ride without anything beingexpected of me. It is far less structured than the lessons I observed. I feelthe horse breathing, and I feel the rise and fall of its body. The teachersays I can just relax and go with the motion of the horse, though herguidance to lean back is difficult for me to follow. When I do so, it istherapeutic to allow my body to follow the motions initiated by thisbeautiful animal. Back in the barn, she suggests that I lie back against thehorse’s body. It is a bit painful in this position because of my bad back,but I feel close to the horse as it breathes in and out. The horse is warmand strong. When I get off, I feel tingly all over. It is an amazing feeling,as if I have been meditating or doing yoga—but there is also a distinctelectric buzz throughout my body, a zing feeling. I feel I have connectedwith the horse. Its movements leave a resonance in my body.(personal journal, July 2, 2008)

58This second riding instructor explains that riding allows children to move

without having to contribute their own “intention” because they are “carried” by

the movement of the horse (personal communication, July 2, 2008). She offers me

an experience that is more about surrender than direction. Yet the sensory

experience of riding is more powerful than the cognitive element of the activity.

My body gains a calm and tingly feeling that lasts for a number of hours. I feel

connected to my body and an ongoing sense of movement inside of it, the way

one might feel after a day of skiing or sailing. The sensation is pleasurable and

soothing. It is of course impossible to imagine how the same experience would

impact a child on the autism spectrum, let alone how it would impact any other

human being. However, the strong motivation of children to ride, and the fact that

riding leaves such a lasting sensory impression within me, suggests that horse

riding therapy undoubtedly alters the way a child experiences his or her body

within the environment.

Music-based therapies. Color Light and Listening Space are two music-

based practices that are unique to anthroposophy. Both are offered as a group

activity as well as individual therapy. According to the music teacher, listening

space is best for “awakening in the morning” while Color Light is for

“harmonizing,” ideally just before lunch. These activities fill the surroundings

59with music, light and movement, so that my observations are inevitably fused

with my sensory experience.

Color Light consists of performances observed by the children. A screen

hangs in front of a number of colored windows. Behind it, a person trained in

eurythmy, a form of movement unique to anthroposophy, moves to the music or

holds shapes against the screen. The combination of changing colors, soft music,

and the images on the screen are designed to meet the needs of particular age

groups or of individual children.

One day, I have the privilege of observing three Color Light sessions in a

row. I sit in a chair in a dark room, facing the curtain. Behind me, the music

teacher plays the lyre to the light of a candle. In the first session, for younger

children, animals move behind the blue curtain in a shadow puppet show,

depicting a story. In the second session, I watch a woman’s figure move to the

music as the color of the curtain shifts to reds and greens. Finally, in the third

session, paintings of the Madonna and Child flash on the curtain. This particular

scene reminds me of a slideshow in my college art history class. I do not find it to

be soothing. Later, I learn that the intention of this third modality is to give the

feeling of being “held,” however these images feel quite contrived and unnatural

to me. During the presentations, I feel more connected to the sound and the color

than to the movement behind the curtain. I notice that many children look down

60during the course of the session and wonder if they have trouble attending or if

they are naturally monitoring the amount of stimulation they can handle.

Afterward, I get up slowly and quietly. I have the sensitivity of having just sat in a

long meditation.

Listening Space is one of my favorite experiences at Camphill, perhaps

because it connects music, movement, and engaging one’s body in space in a way

that is reminiscent of dance. To learn about Listening Space, the music teacher

invites me to participate in two sessions rather than to observe from the side.

Children, co-workers and teachers form a circle in the room. The music teacher

plays the triangle very fast—a cue for everyone to run around the room, keeping

the circle shape. Pupils pass each other or walk aimlessly, but all respond and

move to the music. The triangle stops and we stop running. Then, after a silent

pause (filled with the music of pupils), we hear a slow, steady bell sound. We

move closer together to create a smaller circle. We then back up slowly and

enlarge the circle, opening our arms to create more space between one another.

Each round, the music teacher adds an additional bell sound and the circle opens

wider. The strong contrast between the fast rhythm of the triangle and the slow

sound of the bell makes each element more pronounced. After four or five rounds,

the children sit in a long row of chairs. The music teacher plays a song on the lyre

while the eurythmist gestures the path of the sounds with her arms. The same

61song is played a second time, with a flute. The listening children seem to quiet

down their own noises during this music. Afterward, the music teacher asks me,

“Are you calm?” In my restful state I answer, “Yes.” He asks, “Are you ready

for your day now?” The exercise has neutralized my nervous energy. I feel ready.

The music teacher explains that running around helps children release the

energy that will impede their ability to settle and focus for school. Later I connect

this approach to the way that Waldorf schools have recess before the start of the

school day. It is a way of honoring the natural rhythm of children and giving them

a healthy avenue to express it. I learn that the opening of the circle helps children

to find their own space within the collective. The children are out of breath after

running in a circle, and then they steady their breath into the quiet music. Like

cooling down and stretching after high impact exercise, this activity may heighten

the children’s ability to relax into time and space. The music component sets the

rhythm of the exercise so that the children can follow its lead rather than an inner

level of mental or physical energy that might be hyperactive or lethargic. I am

surprised by activity’s powerful effect on my physical, mental and emotional

states.

Perhaps the name of the activity designates a containing environment in

which children can freely release their energy and naturally respond to sounds.

Listening Space is also inherently nonverbal, and it creates a way to being with

62other people in a structured and free way. I do not have the opportunity to see

how the activity is tailored to individuals, as the teacher feels it would be

inappropriate for me to watch this individual session. Nevertheless, it is easily

conceivable how the simple audio and kinesthetic elements can be modified to

meet the therapeutic needs of children with a variety of needs.

Massage. Any form of massage may benefit children on the autism

spectrum, because massage offers sensory regulation through deep pressure and

social attunement. The massage therapist at Camphill conceptualizes her work in

terms of Steiner’s complex theory of the sensory system and life processes. She

explains that to be in harmony with nature is to live comfortably enough in one’s

inner experience and outer world in order to develop physically and spiritually.

The massage therapist also describes her own process of applying the

theory to her work. She explains that she tunes in to whether a child is “anxious,

open or closed” in order to connect with them and determine what they need most

(personal communication, July 3, 2008). Meanwhile, she is careful to maintain

“self governance” of her own physical, emotional and spiritual bodies in order to

meet the children’s “distortions with archetypal presence of health” (personal

communication, July 3, 2008). Finally, she describes her work as “compassionate

but directed,” holding “reverence for the space” in which the natural healing

process can take place (personal communication, July 3, 2008).

63After this conversation, the massage therapist offers me a therapeutic

massage. She asks whether I would like to receive a massage for a child with

autism, Asperger’s disorder, epilepsy, or Downs syndrome. Each of these

conditions is viewed as a distinct presenting problem that corresponds to the

physical, emotional and spiritual realms—and so each has a unique treatment

focus, targeting specific organs and functions. She chooses from a full collection

of scented oils, each with a specific purpose. I choose to receive a massage for a

child with Asperger’s disorder. I write:

She moves her hands around my back in circular motions. I suddenlyrecognize that I have been worried and anxious about things that I must dobefore leaving. I realize that in the rush to fill the last days at Camphill, Ihave been living the sensory experience of lists. The circular movementhelps me to integrate flow and creativity into my being. I feel lighter andmore open to possibility. I appreciate the capacity to let go of linear,structural thought and to be more flexible. I love the smell of the oil sheuses as she shifts locations to another part of my back. (personal journal,July 3, 2008)

During this massage, I connect with my own anxiety and linear thinking as I feel

it release. I feel, within my body, the ability to open myself up to the unknown

without needing to control time. The massage increases the space within my own

mind for new ideas and new feelings. It is a nonverbal communication from the

massage therapist, using the sense of touch to bypass mind’s limitations.

Horse riding, Color Light, Listening Space and anthroposophical massage

are so potent with sensory information that it is difficult to imagine how they

64would affect different people. Since I am not with the children before or after

the observations, I lack a means of comparing the impact of the interventions

upon them. I write:

The children continue to sing and thrash about in the midst of Listeningspace. Still, they may be moving closer to optimal levels of arousal. Thesensory changes may look different on them than on me—but after them, Ifeel a distinct calm, a quiet steadiness. (personal journal, June 26, 2008)

These therapies use light, sound, touch and movement in specific ways with the

intention of helping children feel balanced. My personal experience with them is

one of connection to my inner nature as well as to my surroundings.

It is worth noting that curative eurythmy is another therapy unique to

Camphill that may offer children a means to connect to themselves within their

environment. Eurythmy is an element of anthroposophy that has its own training

and theoretical basis. It is taught and practiced in Waldorf schools all over the

world, and is offered at Camphill in the traditional sense as well as in the form of

therapy. Unfortunately, apart from observing the eurythmist in Color Light and

Listening Space, I am unable to observe eurythmy in its purer form. During their

eurythmy time, the pupils rehearse plays that they plan to perform for the entire

school for the end of the year. I do observe rehearsals of Macbeth and Romeo and

Juliet, and I join class ten in rehearsing a non-Shakespeare play. These activities

65are more connected to the element of community within Camphill and will be

addressed in that section.

Spirituality

Ethos. Spirituality manifests within this community as an ethos rather than

as a dogma. Prescribed spiritual practices and philosophies are present, but they

seem to provide a frame or a backdrop for the expression of core humanistic

values. Because a large portion of the community is nonverbal, the spiritual

element must be felt, rather than understood linguistically. Through their spiritual

mindset, the community members embody and transmit the values of respect,

trust and self-discovery. In addition, a number of unique therapies offer pupils a

means of accessing the inner balance that is the goal of many spiritual traditions.

Religious diversity. In this setting, spiritual beliefs and traditions are

neither uniform nor based in a single branch of Christianity. One staff member

suggests that the community offers exposure to the Christian religion while

supporting other faiths. She notes that the widening demographic of community

members has increased multicultural awareness and sensitivity. For example, after

a religious service in celebration of St. Johns day, pupils and staff participate in a

66variety of cultural dances including the “horah,” one traditionally danced at

Jewish weddings. Other faiths are not taught, but their observance is welcome.

Conversations with staff also reveal that this community’s spiritual

practices do not necessarily stem directly from Steiner’s beliefs but more from

those of Camphill’s founders. For example, one service incorporates the signs of

the zodiac, as Konig referenced them in a play about St. John. Steiner’s own

spiritual beliefs, stemming from a number of eastern traditions such as Hinduism

and Buddhism (Jackson, 2003), are also accepted and taught to varying degrees.

In a seminar for play therapists, I ask how Steiner’s acceptance of the karma

principle impacts staff’s conceptualization of pupils’ prognoses. The question

simply leads to an open-ended discussion about different views and definitions of

karma. No conclusive stance is taken, nor do the therapists feel that the concept of

reincarnation contradicts their espoused attachment theory (that is based on early

childhood experiences within a single lifetime).

Spirituality as a celebration of nature. The spiritual ethos, to a profound

extent, is connected to the celebration of nature at Camphill. Communty members

describe a pantheistic sense that each child is a manifestation of God. They

emphasize the unaffected, untouchable spiritual aspect of each child, and they do

not claim power over the child’s esoteric nature. Though it does not seem that

services are mandatory, the staff do suggest to the children that they can have

67their own spiritual lives. In response to a child’s inquiry about morning

services, a teacher answers, “talk to God.”

I observe this pantheistic sentiment in a children’s service. Three staff

members (two of whom are therapists) wearing long black robes stand in front of

four rows of seated pupils and co-workers. After lighting a candle, singing a

hymn, and reading a passage from the Bible, they turn to the group with open

hands and say, “May the Christ be in you.” They repeat this statement

periodically during the service and at the end, as they shake hands each person.

Due to my limited exposure to Christian-based practices, it is only in a

conversation upon returning home that I am able to situate the meaning of this

practice in a theological context. It seems to demonstrate the belief that God is

within and accessible to the children. Of course, the impact of the words is

questionable, as the children make sounds and look around the room. Yet the

sensory elements of the ritual itself create an intense and serious atmosphere. A

nonverbal child opens her eyes wide and smiles to me across the room.

Respect. The belief that all children are whole spiritual beings manifests as

fundamental respect. The fact that staff members share their lives, that they

immerse themselves in the pupils’ paradigm, speaks volumes about their openness

to honor the pupils as equals. In turn, the holistic approach helps children learn to

love and respect themselves.

68Respect is revealed in the language used around the community.

Postmodernists argue that language serves as a significant vehicle of

therapeutic—or anti-therapeutic—elements within a group of people. In this

community, four common phrases illustrate the therapeutic attitude of respect.

The words “manage,” “stuck,” “process,” and the phrase “tell someone off” are

described in detail below. These terms may originate in the national culture, in

anthroposophical texts, or in this community itself. Whichever the case, their use

within the context of Camphill gives them unique meaning.

First, a person’s level of functioning (be it pupil or staff) is captured by an

ability to “manage.” If someone “can’t manage” sitting for the duration of a

school performance, they are accepted and are not devalued for their inability to

do so. They may be excused from the activity, or they may be invited to

participate in a modified fashion. “Managing” is a neutral verb that describes a

transient rather than a fixed level of functioning. It does not correspond to a

prognosis or a GAF score, but rather articulates whether a child has the sufficient

tools to navigate a particular situation. It is a normalizing term. It suggests that

living in the world is universally challenging. Getting “stuck” is a vivid phrase

often used to describe a child rejecting an activity. It is a non-pathologizing way

to capture the experience of finding oneself in a thick, debilitating swamp of

anxiety. Being “stuck” is another universal experience and it does not imply

69defiance. A “process” is a behavior that must be carried through to completion

in order to alleviate anxiety. It is a highly respectful way to regard someone’s

self-stimulatory behaviors, self-talk or compulsions. At first glance, the word

carries neutral valence, but it also implies utility. A process need not be

interrupted. Finally, to “tell someone off” is a strikingly negative way to refer to

the act of reprimanding. This phrase, used by staff, discourages disrespectful

speech.

The value of respect also plays out in interventions used with the children. A

teacher helps children to value themselves by reinforcing their accomplishment of

discrete, manageable tasks. A coworker calmly and permissively knits while

waiting for a pupil to complete his “process” rather than growing impatient and

angry. Both a teacher and a parent describe how this coworker’s attitude honors

the child, respects the pupil’s underlying feelings and capabilities in each

moment, removes tension and anxiety from the atmosphere, and decreases

provocative or disruptive behaviors. A play therapist speaks of showing children

to love all parts of themselves, including all feelings and all parts of the body—

even those that do not function properly. Above all, respect manifests in the

staff’s appreciation of the children. I see awe in one teacher’s face as she talks

about the inner qualities of her pupils who have graduated. She has told them,

“Whatever you can do, that is your best. What matters is that you pushed yourself

70and learned in going through the process.” Here, the “process” is one of

developing as a full human being.

One challenge to this profound respect is the question of whether a child’s

behaviors are causing them suffering. For example, one nonverbal pupil’s

ritualistic “processes” are so extensive that it often takes him hours to be ready to

bathe and eat breakfast. The actual adaptive life skills are of no challenge to him,

and he conquers these easily and independently once he is ready to initiate them.

In this instance, it is possible that in respecting this pupil’s inclination to take time

in completing his process, the community is actually perpetuating his experience

of suffering. Co-workers remind this child that it is time for breakfast, but do so in

a non-threatening, non-fear inducing and non-urgent manner. Where does respect

and acceptance of another become confused with allowing for their suffering?

Members of the community join together to ask these questions. The staff

acknowledge the complexity of each child, and, often with input from parents,

they develop interventions on the basis of knowing the children deeply. First,

because the members of the community live so close together, staff can read the

nuanced expressions and moods of the children. They have great insight into the

children’s behaviors, and they have a strong means of comparison of behaviors

across contexts. Second, they have an opportunity to observe subtle improvement

and growth. These children make strides that are most visible to those who have

71witnessed their changes over longer periods of time. The community member’s

ability to see subtle changes gives them a heightened level of appreciation for the

children’s developing strengths. Though the duration of my stay limits my

observation of subtle changes in the children, I recognize the extent to which each

child is honored fully.

Trust. Trust is a second value at Camphill that is grounded in the schools’

spiritual understanding of the child. A teacher suggests that one child’s motivation

to participate in an activity is as significant, if not more, than the activity itself.

This teacher includes “enjoying the exercises” as a goal in individualized

education plans, and he is careful to stop challenging activities before fatigue can

set in and demoralize a child. Children do have set goals and rules to follow.

However, the individualized nature of each child’s program shows that the

providers lack a fixed vision of what each child must accomplish. There is a trust

in the organic developmental process.

As a result, children are not compared to each other or expected to meet

standardized goals. In comparison to those in many school settings, staff do not

fear what will happen if a child does not accomplish a specific task in a specific

period of time. Fear results from lack of control in attempts to sculpt a child into a

preconceived shape. Children pick up on fear, which only invites more anxiety

and resistance. In contrast, trust results from adults’ willingness to accept that the

72creative process belongs to the child. In this community, students are

encouraged to follow their own creative impulses both within and outside the

classroom. Their interests generate a drama club, a drumming group and social

events. One student seeks out a co-worker to develop her skills in dancing salsa.

These self-driven accomplishments, born out of a trusting environment, likely

empower pupils and reinforce their sense of self worth.

Self discovery. Self-discovery, a value espoused in many spiritual

traditions, plays a great role in this community. In this context, self-discovery is

defined as the experience of learning from and about oneself. A workshop teacher

challenges children to make independent artistic choices, so that they can see their

individual imprint on their final product. Two play therapists emphasize that play

can help children develop strong, positive self-identities, and a teacher suggests

that play is a fundamental means of self- discovery. Play is an aspect of the

Waldorf curriculum through class 12, whether children are engaging with artistic

media or completing multi-disciplinary projects. In addition, by performing in

school festivals, pupils have access to inner discovery through the experience of

embodying characters outside of themselves.

The sensory-oriented therapies described earlier also heighten children’s

capacities to engage inward because they help to regulate sensory and emotional

states. A child at an optimal level of arousal has a greater potential to identify his

73or her own feeling states as well as the feelings of his or her social partners.

Color Light therapy gives me the calming, steady presence of meditation, helping

me to modulate my emotions. The anthroposophical massage loosens my worries,

helps me to relax into the day, and gives me a feeling of possibility. Thus, sensory

regulating therapies may serve as forms of spiritual practices that help the

children access and develop their emergent inner qualities.

Community

A way of life. Community life is the unique contribution of Konig, Camphill’s

founder, to Steiner’s model of curative education. As such, community is the

defining feature of Camphill’s identity. This element is emphasized in the

mission of Camphill and it comes alive for its residents.

Camphill does not feel like a residential treatment center but rather like a

community dedicated to people with special needs. The people without special

needs make a significant commitment to share in the lifestyle of the community

rather than separate themselves from it. Like the pupils, they also contract to live

a new way, by the values of this society. As a teacher states, “people meet the

needs of the community and their needs are met by the community” (personal

communication, June 21, 2008). Though some staff members are officially

employed, most live in exchange for food, accommodation and training in

74curative education. A long time staff member observes that the environment

was once more community oriented. Still, the community dynamic at Camphill is

compelling.

This dynamic can be broken down into three discrete components. They

include collaboration, belonging and witnessing. Each of these components has

elements that facilitate the sensory and emotional experience of the pupils and

each has challenging elements as well. Taken together, they also have

implications for pupils transitioning into the greater society.

Collaboration. While Winnicott (1971) sees facilitating environments as

products of parent-child attunement, Camphill’s environment is a product of

many. Each child has two house coordinators and an average of 12 co-workers

living in the home. A teacher argues that one parent alone cannot possibly offer

children such ongoing support. One challenge of multiple caretakers is

maintaining consistent interventions. On the other hand, staff members

communicate with one another informally and in organized meetings to determine

appropriate interventions. The community itself takes on the facilitative role of a

parent.

Are families of origin displaced from their roles? Ideally, they become part of

a larger caretaking system. One teacher meets with a day pupil’s mother weekly

to share observations of child’s behaviors at home and at school. She says it helps

75to verbalize concerns with parents and to collaborate with them to “discover

new dimensions of the child’s experience” (personal communication, June 21,

2008). Unfortunately, the integration between cultures within and outside of

Camphill can be challenging. A number of family members visit during the

course of this research. Some are visibly open to the holistic lifestyle, while others

are less so. Children who come from troubled families often change patterns that

are continued among members of their family, and the reunions can be difficult. A

staff member observes that for some parents, seeing a child progress outside of

the family home can be a confusing and even painful experience.

A visiting parent generously offers me time for a conversation. Having

explored and even engineered a variety of educational and living options for her

child, this parent notes that the environment at Camphill and the attitude of the

staff are what drew her to the community. Despite her confidence in enrolling her

child, I observe sadness in their goodbye. This mother invites me to the family

home at the end of the school term, and I have the opportunity to see how her

child transitions to another environment that is different—but also full of love and

recognition. The decision to send a child to residential living environment is

outside the scope of this research. However, the implications of having a

facilitating environment that is separate from the family of origin is a complex

issue that staff members find to be both tender and challenging.

76Multicultural community of young adults. The caretakers of the pupils who

do live in the community are a diverse, international group. This particular

Camphill is known for it’s training program, and as a result it draws in staff from

all over the world. I meet staff members are British, Portuguese, Italian,

Hungarian, Scottish, American, German, Israeli, German, Brazilian, Chilean, and

Korean, among others. German is the most common nationality for two plausible

reasons. First, as Steiner was German, the Waldorf methods are quite well known

in Germany and the schools more common there. Second, working at Camphill

for one year meets the German military requirement of 18 year-old youth.

The children have the unique experience of having a diverse collection of

caretakers. Co-workers introduce them to foods of their countries of origin and

expose them to the way that other people look and act. One teacher notes that

language can be a barrier, when staff members struggle to speak English or when

pupils have trouble understanding distinct accents. Slang, facial expressions, and

nuanced social behaviors might present a challenge for children on the autism

spectrum who struggle to read social cues. On the other hand, exposure to a wide

variety of cultures offers these children an opportunity to step outside their

rigidity and to develop a larger space in which they can feel comfortable.

The age and life phase of the co-workers, as well as the work-exchange

basis on which they live at Camphill, also contributes to the dynamic of the

77community. A parent points out that the passion of a volunteer is quite different

than that of an employee. In theory, work exchange removes the presence of

hierarchy, however some people feel a sense of hierarchy within this setting.

Nevertheless, because many of the co-workers fall between the ages of 18 and 24,

they bring a high level of physical energy. Their phase of life corresponds to a

sense of openness to community life, and they may be more amenable to shared

living situations whereas older adults may have more difficulty if they have

grown accustomed to independent living. It is powerful to see 18 year olds in

parental roles, and yet their transience presents as a challenge to the pupils. One

teacher says it can be difficult for children to build relationships with the co-

workers and then to say goodbye, especially to those staff who stay for only one

year. Like any separation, it is possible that these can be damaging to the children

or healing, depending on how they are held.

In addition, a number of families reside in Camphill. These families have staff

members who are raising their typically developing children within it. The

children attend schools outside, but Camphill is their backyard. They jump on

trampolines and play soccer with pupils, co-workers and other peers. These

children experience Camphill as a way of life and likely have a sense of people

with special needs as key members of society. Two staff members share that after

growing up within Camphill, they wanted to give back to the community as

78adults. They feel that living with the pupils is a unique privilege. In this

community, it is not only the pupils who are being educated.

Belonging. A teacher states that the “gift of Waldorf is a feeling of belonging”

(personal communication, June 22, 2008). She notes that as children have one

teacher throughout their education, the teacher-pupil relationship becomes a

source of deep connection and personal growth. Camphill also offers pupils ample

opportunities to feel a sense of belonging in social activities such as song night

and teen gatherings (“camp-chill”). In addition, children have roles within the

house, taking on responsibilities in the to the best of their abilities.

These elements take on added meaning as I engage in the community. People

welcome me and invite me to participate whenever possible. In class six, I parade

around the school with the pupils pretending to be crusaders, and I do pushups

with them in circuit training. In class ten, the teacher casts me in the play rather

than having me watch the rehearsal. Suddenly I am a deer about to be eaten, but

thankfully I am spared when the town members choose vegetarianism.

In the house, I also feel less an ethnographer and more a participant. At each

meal, I have a personal napkin ring. Staff repeatedly seat me next to a child with

whom I have forged a connection or with a teacher whose class I have observed. I

feel most connected when taking on responsibilities and contributing to the

wellbeing of the house. Setting the table, I learn where to place other people’s

79napkin rings. Washing and drying dishes with a kitchen full of people is an

opportunity to have thoughtful discussions while contributing to a common cause.

I grow an appreciation for how much energy is needed to make the system

function properly, and how affirming it feels to be a part of a household.

Membership in the community strikes me a week into my stay. Immersion

presents itself as deepened connection to individuals, familiarity in routine, and a

feeling of sadness about leaving. I begin to recognize—and understand—pupils’

nonverbal communications. In the end of year school festival, I am moved to see

familiar pupils perform. A co-worker invites me to write in farewell books he has

made for the members of the house who will be leaving at the end of the school

term. I exchange gifts and email addresses, but struggle to adequately express my

gratitude for being so fully welcomed into the community. As subjective as it

may be, such kindness offers insight into what it might feel like to be a child

welcomed into a supportive community.

Living in community is a far deeper and more complex social experience than

what might be learned in a social skills group. Children with a variety of

challenges learn to live together. Watching and helping each other, they must call

upon their inner resources to cope with people who are as unpredictable as they

are. One teacher suggests that children with social and emotional challenges

thrive when they can help pupils with physical disabilities. Another observes that

80children with Asperger’s disorder learn to be more flexible in such a varied

environment. These interactions occur throughout the day and night. In this way,

Camphill is a social learning “playground” for children who might otherwise

isolate—often with videogames or television—at the end of the school day. The

connections are genuine, and I do not experience them at all moments or from all

members of the community. Living in close proximity with so many people is

quite challenging, but it is a powerful means of learning to be a social human

being.

Sensory experience of connection. The social environment at Camphill can

also be experienced on a sensory level. The community generates a current of

energy that is accessible to each of its members. The emotions, attitudes and

enthusiastic energy of each individual member combine with the collective

intention to facilitate healing. Consciously or unconsciously, the children can tap

into this electric energy source and connect to a whole that is larger than their

individual self. This strong force contributes to a healing environment and is

inseparable from it. I write:

The energy of the community body inhabits each individual body. A wave ofanger, frustration, or silliness ripples through the house and affects eachresident. A shortage of bread or an abundance of rhubarb pie generates sharedemotions. Even if the transmission of mood and emotion is unconscious,people’s behaviors reflect it.(personal journal, June 18, 2008)

81The children are part of a collective reality in which people move together

through the day. Excitement fills the air before the school festival. Sadness

permeates the community as pupils and staff separate for summer.

Personally, I experience this collective reality as a heightened awareness of

others in a shared time and space. The estate becomes smaller, the faces more

familiar, and the rhythm more ingrained. I gain a sense of freedom to walk in and

out of buildings, an openness to encounter new and different faces on the familiar

grounds. I write that the sounds of the pupils merge with those of the natural

environment. At first it seems that the noises of the children are being ignored, but

soon I feels that they are being honored because they are free to express

themselves. Their sounds become a shared sensory experience of the community,

where every member’s contribution is a piece of the whole.

Witnessing. Community life also allows children to be witnessed across

contexts. Observing children in the house, in their classrooms, and in workshops,

I see different parts of the pupils, and can connect with them more fully.

Theatrical performances offer children a chance to present themselves to others.

Pupils in a self-directed drama club put on an improvised play about themselves

in the future. The play is full of humor, but also poignantly demonstrates each

child’s inner fantasy of who they are and will become. A teacher reflects on this

performance, stating that the children must have had a tremendous about of

82confidence to act out their biggest fears on stage in front of the entire school

community. The children feel safe enough to risk being seen—being witnessed

fully—and to laugh about their imperfections. The members of each house also

convene in “report parties” (Camphill staff member, personal communication,

July 1, 2008) in which the children share their end of term reports with one

another. In these reports, teachers describe what pupils have learned, list strengths

and weaknesses, and suggest goals for the coming term. Sharing the reports

fortifies their tone of accomplishment. I write:

I sit beside a pupil on the grass beside the swings in the front yard. He proudlyclutches his report and shows it to me. Others join us in a circle. The housecoordinator passes around a basket of sweets. Each child reads his report outloud or has a co-worker do so. One teacher encourages a child that she isalways welcome to come to class even if she has had a hard time doing so. Hedoes not mask her challenges but describes them and honestly articulates, toher, that he is a bit confused by them and unsure how to help at times.(personal journal, July 1, 2008)

The opportunity to share school reports allows children an opportunity to be seen

and to be acknowledged as students. For children who may not be able to

comprehend the verbal communications of their progress, this activity offers them

a means of feeling seen and honored.

Staff members are also witnessed across contexts, by pupils and by each

other. Teachers and therapists have their own homes, but eat meals within the

houses. At home in the United States, I take care of life tasks independently, and

83take on different roles with people in different parts of my life. At Camphill,

compartmentalization does not seem possible. All activities are accomplished by,

with and for the group. The overlap of so many roles can be difficult, and it can

be challenging to impose boundaries. A co-worker notes that lack of privacy is a

struggle—people know what you do, where and when. Co-workers who have

more experience are offered the option having separate living areas within the

house. Some paid staff members choose to live outside the estate but note that

they feel pressure to live within it. People’s reactions to the blurring of personal

and professional identities may be largely based on cultures of origin and family

experiences. Nonetheless, to live within the Camphill community is to make a

commitment to witness, to be witnessed, and to maintain an identity as a member

of a group.

Witnessing also occurs on a sensory level. Community members see, and

can feel, each other’s pain. The anxiety of one child impacts the emotional body

of the group. Rapid escalation of intense negative emotions among a collection of

sensitive children is a profoundly different experience than being around one

anxious child. A teacher and co-worker both stress the importance of taking

emotional distance and responding calmly in such situations, in order to avoid

becoming anxious oneself. At other times, the transfer of feelings is more subtle

84and difficult to avoid. The shared living space can be an obstacle as well as a

catalyst for healing.

Thus, there is tension at Camphill between private and community life.

Individual disposition, sensory needs and cultural influences likely determine

whether communal living is compatible with an individual. Perhaps

unsurprisingly, the two Israelis that I meet in the community have both grown up

in the community lifestyle of a kibbutz. I notice that many co-workers spend free

time knitting or playing music in common rooms. And, I am surprised to find that

despite my lifelong preference for individual sports, I feel drawn to join evening

soccer games. Something in the environment seems to bring out a new side of me.

Might it be the same for pupils? Clearly, many factors will determine whether

community living is ideal for an individual child with a unique background and

constitution. Perhaps the benefits of living in a community outweigh the

challenges. Perhaps they do not. Within the context, however, one must develop

and use tools to maintain a sense of peace with the ever-changing dynamic of the

collective.

Building inner strength. One must ask how members of this community

would fare when living outside of it. Children with special needs are vulnerable to

being teased, and may be mistreated when they leave an environment where their

behaviors are normalized. Where do pupils go when they leave? A large number

85of them will always require assisted living. These people have one option

nearby: twenty-minutes down the road, by foot, is a self-sustaining Camphill

community for adults. The residents run a farm, a bakery, a craft store, a coffee

shop and a market. Still, the question of transition is one of ongoing discussion

among staff. Many have not have been around long enough to track the graduated

pupils, and others are reluctant to generalize. The community continues to address

the question of transition and will do so in a conference to be held in the spring of

2009 (Camphill, 2009, p.3).

Wherever they go after they leave, the pupils may well be emotionally

prepared. To be seen, accepted and appreciated by 300 people for a decade cannot

but instill in them some level of inner strength. The affirming community

presence at Camphill has such potency that it can lead to an internalized sense of

positive self-worth. These children may feel secure enough to explore new

relationships. On the contrary, children in mainstream society are bombarded with

overt and unconscious messages, particularly from the media, that they are

insignificant, lacking, ugly and undesirable. The sense of connection and purpose

that a child may experience Camphill has an arguable facilitative value that

extends beyond this time and place.

Cultural context. The experience of joining a community atmosphere

largely depends on frame of reference. My personal history is the backdrop

86against which I experience the community dynamic at Camphill. This history is

characterized by a predominantly individualistic lifestyle with periods of strong

shifts to the contrary. My individualistic culture of origin, predominant on the east

coast of the United States contrasted the communalistic culture of Camphill. I

grew up in my own bedroom in a suburban home with two parents and one

sibling, and left my immediate family to attend college in a city 600 miles away.

A number of experiences offered me exposure to communalistic life. I

attended an overnight summer camp for two months of the year throughout my

childhood. The camp was spiritually oriented, set in a nature, and emphasized

social connections through group activities. The daily schedule, including

communal meals, schedule rest times and individual chores, offered me a

framework through which it became easier to understand and acclimate to these

elements at Camphill. Living in Ghana for five months exposed me to the myriad

ways a society could integrate communalistic values into everyday life. Traveling

independently, living and working on farms of Australia as well as in the

metropolis of New York City, further offered me an opportunity to juxtapose rural

community living with independent urban life. As such, the community aspect of

Camphill offered me a distinct experience previously unmatched.

87

Learning

Theory and practice. Learning is the final element that contributes to the

environment of Camphill. This category captures the relationship between theory

and practice in this community. The learning culture of Camphill is discussed

here in terms of dominant philosophies and openness to new ideas. In an

educational atmosphere that honors experiential learning, staff members study

curative education while learning by engaging with pupils in the moments of

everyday life. They are informed by personal philosophies and theories outside of

anthroposophy, and they exhibit both resistance to change and an attitude of

ongoing learning.

Anthroposophy and Curative Education. Over the course of the three

weeks, I gain a deeper understanding of anthroposophy and curative education.

Staff members explain theories that address sensory and educational needs for

autistic children. Interestingly, individuals with different amounts of experience

and different roles within the community highlight the same concepts. These

principles seem to have a strong life within the community.

At the root of the theories imparted to me is Steiner’s conceptualization of

twelve senses. (See footnote in nature section.) I first hear of this theory in an

informal discussion with a third year co-worker, and then learn more as I join a

88co-workers’ seminar. Later, the riding therapist, the massage therapist, and a

teacher highlight its importance in their work. The weight of this concept itself

demonstrates the extent to which the community members focus on a sensory

understanding of the children. This lens creates a healing environment in which

sensory sensitivity is seamlessly infused.

Experiential Learning. Theories of anthroposophy and curative education are

extensive and detailed, and yet their authors intend for them to be understood

experientially. Staff and children learn by doing. Like general education Waldorf

schools, Camphill schools include age-specific activities that complement

scholarly learning. As I run alongside the crusaders of class six, I recall the

adventuresome spirit of age twelve. I recognize how it is given an outlet and used

to make history accessible.

Experiential methods are also used in unique ways to accommodate children

with special needs. In a geography lesson, the teacher walks around with a globe

so the children in class twelve can trace the equator with their fingers. This small

act seems to be powerful for children with a wide range of cognitive abilities. The

teacher feels it is important gives students a tactile experience of the earth’s

sphere, whether or not they can understand this concept in other ways. I hear of

teachers who enact Hindu Puja ceremonies and who convert their classrooms into

89tropical jungles. These activities create rich sensory experiences and allow

children to take in new information through a variety of modalities.

The experiential approach to learning is most apparent in the way I am offered

information for my research. People are inclined to help me to learn about the

community firsthand rather than dictate to me their methods. The teachers invite

me to join the class activities—not necessarily, or not only, to feel included, but

also to experience the activities for myself. The music teacher exhibits disdain at

the idea of observing Listening Space. He asks me to join in order to discover

how the activity feels to me. The art, riding and massage therapists each suggest

that only by trying the therapies will I be able to access their benefits. And

arguably, they are right. Given the children’s unique ways of expressing internal

states, and given the narrow window of time that I observe them, it would be

nearly impossible to discern how the interventions affect them. The teachers and

therapists encourage me to use my own self as a tool to appreciate the sensory and

emotional impact of the interventions.

Personal Philosophy. Staff members bring their unique selves to the work,

and so naturally they develop their own philosophies. I ask a variety of people

about their goals for the children. A therapist says her goal is to “help a person

live in relation to other people” (personal communication, June 20, 2008). She

does so by helping them to replace disruptive self-soothing behaviors with more

90harmonious ones. In addition, she feels that it is important for the children to

embrace all parts of themselves and to acknowledge their disabilities. As I spend

time with the children, I see her philosophy come to life. Co-workers challenge a

pupil to set the table and cut bread in spite of his physical disability. They explain

to me that taking on these tasks rather than avoiding them will help him to accept

who he is, and that overcoming them will elicit feelings of accomplishment. He

will recognize and acknowledge his own weaknesses, and he will become more

empowered to live with them.

A teacher, who has seen her pupils graduate from Camphill, has a more

general goal. She smiles as she quotes Rumi (1995): “Let the beauty we love be

what we do. There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground” (p.33).

This teacher’s goal is for the children to be able to experience the beauty in the

world. She asserts that she recognizes such an experience when sees joy come

from the children. The teacher does not seem discouraged by the children’s

limitations but rather is inspired by the children’s unique gifts and ways of

engaging with their surroundings.

Many people seem to embrace a non-pathological stance in conceptualizing

the children’s presentations. A teacher and a therapist each describe the way that a

child’s anxiety impacts pupils and staff. They target emotional states rather than

developmental disorders as the source of their behaviors. In fact, one teacher

91argues that many people confuse anxiety with autism. He describes instances

when pupils refuse to attend class, become violent, or remove their clothing in a

public setting. In these examples, he points to anxiety as the culprit rather than

autism or oppositional defiance. This subtle but important emphasis may stem

from a multidimensional understanding of human processes. It may stem from

reverence for the children as whole spiritual beings, or from a personal sense of

the child’s integrity. The stance likely has a basis in anthroposophy, but it also

seems to rest within the personal ideologies of individual staff members.

Non-anthroposophical approaches. Many children at Camphill receive

therapies that are not unique to anthroposophy. Sensory integration, massage

therapy, play therapy, art therapy, and riding therapy have theoretical bases both

within and outside of curative education. To be a therapist at Camphill, one must

study anthroposophy, curative education and the specific curative therapy. A

number of therapists additionally train in non-anthroposophical approaches, either

prior to coming to Camphill or after joining the community. Such training

requires a commitment of many years and much dedication. Therapists may seek

further education in order to become eligible for jobs outside of anthroposophical

communities, or they may simply wish to incorporate new ideas.

I encounter a number of therapists who actively seek to enrich their work

through the study and practice of approaches that are not based in anthroposophy.

92A play therapist attends a conference on attachment theory in London. In a

seminar, she and her colleagues discuss an article on the subject. Another

therapist teaches a child development course to co-workers that incorporates

traditional psychological theory alongside Steiner’s ideas. She encourages the co-

workers to think critically about the theory of anthroposophy. For example, this

therapist shows students elements of Steiner’s theories that have been proved by

scientific research and asks them to examine how his ideas are situated in a

historical context. Both of these therapists embrace the person-centered approach

of Carl Rogers. His humanistic approach to the healing process so informs their

thinking that their bookshelves are filled with his writings.

Finally, Winnicott’s ideas seem to be implicitly present. Whether the

community members are familiar with his theory that “transitional objects”

(Winnicott, 1971, p.19) help children feel secure while exploring the world, the

concept seems to be embraced at Camphill. I see transitional objects abound. A

teenage boy wears monster slippers to class. He carries a beanbag chair that is

nearly three times his size. A girl carries a string from home to class, and dances

with it on the playground during her break. These items might be taken away in

other classroom context, but here they seem to be as welcome as the children

themselves.

93Embracing change. As a center of training, community members learn and

teach theories of curative education. Yet one would imagine that societal changes

would affect the applicability of theories found useful when the community was

founded in 1940. At Camphill, change is met with openness as well as with

resistance. One therapist makes a case for children to be able to bring special

objects from their family’s homes that are made of non-organic materials. She

tells me she had to advocate for plastic toys to be allowing in the community.

Adolescent pupils, she had argued, are excited about making jewelry out of plastic

beads, and they should be free to do so. She feels that children should be able to

explore their interests at distinct developmental stages, and she suggests that some

of the classic rules be broken in order to make space for the creative process and

for self-expression.

Lifelong learning. Despite tension around modifying traditions, individuals

demonstrate an openness to learn. The massage therapist shares her journey as

one of lifelong learning. She says that though she enjoys practicing massage, she

does not believe it to be the best or only therapy she could offer. Rather, she feels

that by committing herself to one modality, she can continue to learn and deepen

her work. This therapist emits a sense of awe as she describes experiences in

which she learns from the children, and she describes her work as a “two way

learning process” (personal communication, June 2, 2008). She accepts that one

94will always make mistakes, and embraces the critical challenge of learning

from them.

Staff members at Camphill also face the challenge of being open to different

aspects of the children. Particularly in schools, narrow minding thinking on the

part of adults can cause children to acquire reputations that they internalize. At

Camphill, one way that teachers, therapists and co-workers maintain an open

mind about the children is through a meeting called a child study. In this meeting,

a pupil’s co-worker, house coordinator, teachers and therapists meet to discuss

their impressions of the child. They share insights and seek to create a set of

consistent interventions. A co-worker presents her research on the child study

process, noting that the meetings honor both objective and subjective reports of

working with each child. Professionals who witness the children across contexts,

and engage with them in such distinct ways, have an incredible opportunity to

learn from one another. If such meetings are conducted with genuine openness,

the potential for appreciating the multifaceted dimensions of the children are quite

powerful.

Though many co-workers stay for only one year, they bring a sense of

curiosity with them. In fact, their transience may lend itself to a flexible and open-

minded attitude, whereas someone who has lived in the community for a long

time may be less amenable to change. One co-worker explains that he plans to

95leave the Camphill after five years because “a river that stops flowing will get

polluted” (personal communication, June 24, 2008). He anticipates that he will

learn as much as he can within five years at Camphill, and then it will be time to

move on. He demonstrates that learning through personal growth is his priority.

This co-worker’s attitude reflects the general attitude within the community

that learning and personal growth are deeply intertwined. For children as well as

staff, the most important life lesson is to engage with one’s own development and

to learn how to live with others. Taken together, these different philosophies and

attitudes depict a simple and powerful goal of education. The goal is to learn to

love the world, others, and oneself within it. To thrive in these ways is not easy,

nor is the end result static. It would be impossible, and irrelevant by these

standards, to evaluate a child’s progress by comparing him or her to other

children, to a standardized target, or to a statistic.

In the sitting room library, I find a small book that gracefully describes

Steiner’s theory on education. A mere hundred pages translated into simple

English, the book is a goldmine. Its words offer me insight into the theoretical

basis for many of my daily observations. The book waits for me before each meal,

as I join the house members in anticipating a gong sound—our cue to enter the

dining room. And yet most of the time, the book sits quietly, closed, on my lap.

96In these moments, I learn by watching the children and co-workers who are

playing, singing, and rocking. A child gives me updates on the social events of his

day. Sometimes I feel quiet and reserved when others hastily want to share. At

other times, I feel lonely and lost in a room full of people turning inward. I

appreciate the musicians for unifying us with the mood of their melody. I ask a

co-worker to teach me how to knit, and learn that this creative activity allows one

to be simultaneously alone and with others. I take the time to engage with others

and observe my reactions to being in a community. The book, a fund of

knowledge of a certain kind, becomes a transitional object that connects me to the

scholarly parent of research. Like any good transitional object, it lets me go.

Through engagement and connection with my mind, body and inner awareness, I

learn about this Camphill community in the way that its members do.

Analysis

Strengths and weaknesses. Each dynamic of Camphill’s environment has

advantages and disadvantages. The schedule of Camphill helps children to

balance their physiological needs and its structure makes time less emotionally

overwhelming. The coworkers’ lack of personal time brings exhaustion and

burnout into the shared environment. Spirituality at Camphill, embracing respect

97and honoring differences, can increase self-esteem and bring courage to

individuals who are often under-appreciated in greater society. Specific spiritual

practices, such as services that reference Christianity, may be uncomfortable for

children who come from families with very different traditions. The appreciation

of nature, both within and outside of each individual, offers healthy sensory

experience and makes exploration possible. Restrictions on what is brought into

the community may limit children’s exposure to elements of modern culture.

Experiential learning unleashes unlimited growth and discovery. Among the more

rigid community members, the prescribed practices of anthroposophy may leave

insufficient space for change and new ideas. Finally, community life offers

children an opportunity to experience self-worth and connection in a way that is

unmatched in an individualistic culture. And yet for children who are happy when

alone, the shared living situation and the transmission of anxiety among

community members may be too much.

The impact of these elements is surely unique to each resident of

Camphill. Moreover, it is not the aim of this hermeneutical study to qualify or

measure the value of these dynamics. Rather, as a participant in the community, I

explore the ways that I experience the tensions inherent in each. The five

dynamics allow me to see new parts of myself. In a dance of solitude and

98company, structure and openness, activity and slowness, I experience the

community as challenging and inspiring.

One whole. The dynamics of time, nature, spirituality, community and

lessons interact with one another to create the environment at Camphill. Time is

structured according to natural human rhythms, and within the structure is space

for the unfolding of relationships. Nature and spirituality are deeply intertwined,

as the community’s spiritual system is based on reverence for the divine inner

nature of each individual. Community life feeds this universal respect, as pupils

can experience themselves as worthwhile contributors to a common good.

Community life is contained in a shared schedule, a shared sense of time, and

shared priorities. Learning is based upon spiritual principles that emphasize the

importance of nature and community as well as the rhythm of human

development. Finally, the experiential emphasis at Camphill asks that the

residents spend time engaging with community life, nature and spirituality in

everyday moments. Thus, the five elements cannot be thought of as individual

parts that are mutually exclusive. Rather, they together constitute one larger

dynamic that comprises the overall atmosphere.

This one larger dynamic can be experienced in a sensory way. Time

seems to feel fluid rather than abrupt, and the natural surroundings feel refreshing

and crisp. The emphasis on experiential learning keeps residents engaged in the

99present moment. The values of the community are rooted in a philosophy that is

grounded in sensory awareness and descriptive of how one should lead his or her

life in order to develop as a whole, thriving spiritual being. Thus, perhaps

unsurprisingly, the values at Camphill fuse with a sensory experience of them.

100

Chapter Four: Discussion

A Society

Camphill is not a school. It is society. The pupils’ presentations are no

more distinctive than the community in which they live. Camphill embodies a

vision that is abstract and concrete, material and spiritual. Staff members dedicate

their time and energy to upholding this vision by creating and living in a new

paradigm. The boundary in which healing takes place is not a frame around an

adult and child, but rather it is a frame around an entire community. The result is a

shared reality for pupils and caretakers, one with a unique sense of time, nature,

spirituality, learning and community. It is moving to step into this reality, to enter

a natural environment in which children with special needs and openhearted

adults share a holistic and creative lifestyle.

Goals of Education: An Ongoing Question

This research reveals that the aims of Camphill education are multi-

dimensional. Many teachers and therapists hope for pupils to appreciate and enjoy

the world and themselves within it. According to Steiner’s theory, the goal of

education is intrinsically linked to the aims of human development—in its

physical, emotional and spiritual manifestations. But the objectives of any

spiritual system are outside the linguistic confines of a materialistic model.

101Outcomes are not necessarily seen, and to expect to see them would be

missing the point. Rather, staff members at Camphill visibly trust that by

honoring children in the present moment, natural processes will allow them to

develop to their full potentials.

Within the community, I observe goals that are less abstract. A large

portion of energy is directed toward helping children with their adaptive

functioning. Co-workers help pupils learn to walk to class, bathe, and eat with a

spoon. These pragmatic objectives are significant, and they may facilitate a

child’s independence in the future. In addition, if a child accomplishes a task of

daily living, he or she may experience a sense of pride. The child may enjoy the

surroundings and their connection to it, even for one moment. Thus, pragmatic

goals and psycho-spiritual aspirations overlap, and they can be held in mind

simultaneously. Further research might explore how staff members and parents

weigh and integrate them.

It is important to consider the fact that many children in this community

will never be able to function independently as adults. In the national health care

and social services agencies that fund Camphill’s pupils, the current trend is to

refer only students who are deemed incapable of attending public inclusion

classrooms. As a result, more children in this community have significant life-

skill challenges than in the past. Inclusion is an educational trend as well as an

102economic one. According to a staff member, the cost of sending a pupil to

Camphill for one year is the striking equivalent of 180,000 US dollars. He notes

that this price is comparable to other residential schools for children with special

needs, and it may well reflect the disparity between the price of education in the

United States and abroad.

The national trend of inclusion, and its impact on the population at

Camphill, has far reaching implications. Perhaps, because these children have

been deemed ineligible for integrated services, they have been liberated from a set

of societal expectations. No one is trying to streamline them. Adults may have

different expectations for their futures. What, then, do the pupils and their

families hope for? Where do the children—now young adults—go upon

graduating?

Some people live in anthroposophical communities for their entire lives.

Others adopt a more mainstream lifestyle. The experience of the children after

Camphill is not captured in this study. A follow up phenomenological study of the

lives of Camphill graduates would deepen the results of this research. In addition,

if possible, it would be valuable to include pupils’ reflections upon their Camphill

years.

103Limitations

The results of this idiographic study are unique to the time, place and

individuals involved. They cannot be generalized to Camphill communities

worldwide, nor are they replicable within this community. The house described is

not a representative sample of the community. Each house has its own character,

and residents suggest that the two estates have distinct sub-cultures. The three-

week duration of my stay limits my ability to observe changes in the children over

time. As noted, follow-up studies would enrich this research by offering a

longitudinal perspective.

It is difficult to distinguish between the values of Camphill and those of the

socio-political context in which it resides. Waldorf methods seem to be more

accepted in this country than in the United States, making it more viable for

federal funding. This school meets the national curriculum standards, which,

according to one staff member, do not emphasize standardized testing. Though a

teacher suggests that the national trend is to increase emphasis on standardized

achievement, the influence of national policy is not visible to me. The creative,

spiritual model so contrasts the current trend in California public schools that if

curative educators have made compromises, they are not apparent.

My personal culture, upbringing and disposition impact the elements of

Camphill that I perceive to be most compelling. For example, my upbringing on

104the east coast of the United States and my acclimation to fast paced urban life

impact my perception of time. For some co-workers, communal life is less of an

adjustment, and in discussions with them I appreciate our varying points of

reference. I do not live with autism or with another challenge that is represented

among the pupils at Camphill. The subjective element of this study does not

decrease its validity. It mirrors the uniqueness of each individual’s sensory

experience. It honors a phenomenological approach that, in allowing clinical

material to emerge, parallels clinical work within the field of psychology.

Embracing Phenomenology

The phenomenological approach to this research mirrors the experiential

emphasis at Camphill. This approach offers the field of psychology a bridge

between the experiential nuances of clinical work and scientific empiricism. In the

dominant “discourse,” language is privileged over experience. However, the

theories that inform Camphill and the phenomenological methodology used in this

research acknowledge and honor the unlimited dimensions of human experience

that are often lost because they cannot be articulated in words.

Embracing the power of phenomenology also honors the experience of

nonverbal children. Their worlds are rich, with sensory information, with

relationships, and with alternative forms of communication. Perhaps it is actually

easier for them to remain focused on the present moment if they do not have

105word-thoughts getting in the way. This experiential research seeks to explore

their process. Nonverbal children to show me ways to fully engage with my

surroundings. By using my own sensory system as a primary source of

information, listening to leaves and to physiological changes within myself, I

experience Camphill in ways that are not accessible in literature.

I learn about Camphill through my physical and emotional participation. I

am not separate from the research; the data takes shape within me, rather than

outside of me. It simmers, cooks, dwells and deepens. At times, I feel lonely,

homesick, and out of place. At others, I feel I am part of something greater than

myself. This profound sense of connection, and the collective commitment to

holistic health, is absent from my reality at home. In fact, when I describe my

clinical work to one staff member, we marvel at how odd it is to drive to an office

building, offer hourly therapy, get into a car, and drive home. The experience at

Camphill causes a shift within me, one that causes my life at home to feel stranger

than this new one.

When I return, I feel a sense of urgency to write everything down

immediately, to describe all the moments. It is concerning that the experience

might fade with time. How can I capture the sensory qualities of this

environment? Is it possible to articulate my sense of immersion in the

community? In reading through my journal, I observe an emotional shift at the

106point when I had begun to anticipate leaving. As I recognize sadness in the

writing, a wave of this emotion passes over me again. The memories are poignant,

but their integration is equally important.

Applications

This experience continues to teach and guide me in an ongoing learning

process. It lives within me as a means of considering what is therapeutic, both

personally and professionally. The thriving community of Camphill serves as a

new reference point from which to juxtapose other models. Seeing an attitude of

reverence for difference on such a massive scale helps me encourage parents to

reject pressures to change their children. I also recognize that it will be powerfully

healing to conduct a therapy session with a young client outdoors, rather than in

an office with sealed windows. The expansive, balancing elements of nature will

facilitate the therapeutic process irrespective of the words that pass between us.

The experience offers me perspective in my ongoing work with teachers, parents,

and children who are trying to find their way within the educational system. Thus,

the integration of this research into healing practices is crucial clinical learning.

There are many ways to continue engaging in the paradigm of Camphill. I

would like to invite parents and teachers to try new approaches by asking

different questions. Is the social environment of a school setting conducive to the

relational needs of a particular child? Is respect an ethos of the community? Is the

107rhythm of the daily schedule helpful for the child? In what ways does he or

she move her body during the day, and when? Does he or she exhibit joy? Does

the child have an opportunity to try new things, to discover new talents or

abilities? What are the expectations of the child’s accomplishments, and why?

No environment and no intervention will have the same impact on two

children. I cannot say how the five dynamics at Camphill impact children on the

autism spectrum, but I can be sure that it is different for each child. Some might

experience the communal atmosphere as comfortable or overcrowded. The house

may feel containing, confining or expansive. Along with their sensory systems,

the pupils bring their own reference points from their environments of origin. The

contrasts may be welcome for some and challenging for others. The children are

similar in their means of coping with uncomfortable sensations, but they are no

more uniform than the rest of us. Instead, if we focus on the questions that are

relevant to the children, we can give them the opportunity to grow and explore.

Changing the Dialogue

This research suggests that dialogues of education and mental health need

to shift away from the topic of normality. In our society, to be “normal” is to look

and act like other people. People feel pressure to conform in order to be accepted.

Tremendous value is placed on a relative term that costs people their

individuality. In a society that honors difference, people need not spend their

108entire lives trying to be similar to others. At Camphill, children with a wide

range of distinct abilities and challenges learn from one another by engaging with

their differences. People appreciate one another because they are unique, not in

spite of that fact. The community joins the child in navigating landscapes of

emotions and sensations rather than wiping out symptoms of a disease.

We can learn the most from each other when we do not let expectations

limit us. By holding a respectful, open attitude in all of our interactions with

autistic children, we can join them in discovering their unique and exceptional

talents. Unfortunately, it is extremely difficult for people to accept that there are

beautiful things that they cannot experience. But if we do not do so, the risks are

very high. Steiner cautions us as he writes:

…we have in mind something that is normal in the sense of beingaverage. At present there is really no other criterion. That is why theconclusions people come to are so very confused. When they havein this way ascertained the existence of ‘abnormality,’ they begin todo—heavens knows what—believing they are thereby helping toget rid of the abnormality, while all the time they are driving out afragment of genius. (Luxford, 1994, p.10)

In a race to make children look the same, we risk extinguishing the development

of their special abilities, and we miss the tremendous opportunity to share their

company.

Whether or not they live in a community, autistic children can all thrive

within our society. I have been moved and privileged to work with children on the

109autism spectrum both within this community and outside of it. As many

autistic children act without regard for social norms, they are in essence non-

conformists. Their presence asks us to examine our own attitudes and

assumptions. We must challenge ourselves to do so, and to help alleviate their

suffering while letting them be free of the need to conform. Let us learn from

them, and let us learn with them. In their sensory sensitivities, these children have

much to teach us.

110

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115

Appendix A

Attestation of Bias

The author has worked with children on the autism spectrum, ages 2-17,

for four years. She received one year of formal, supervised training at a hospital

early intervention program within the context of graduate school in clinical

psychology. She offered play-based therapy in home settings as well as shadow-

aide services in integrated preschool, kindergarten and first grade classrooms. The

author was not personally educated in a school that used Waldorf methods, nor

was she familiar with Steiner’s ideas during her formative years. The author had

not traveled to the country in which this school is located prior to the research.