c r e a t iv e l iv in g : a dissertation subm itted to ... · c r e a t iv e l iv in g : in s id e...
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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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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.