Can We Restore the Inner Village?
- jessierivest
- Feb 15
- 5 min read
In many modern cultures, we are told we can be anything. But very few spaces ask us who we are within the whole.
It Takes a Village
My 48 hours in Fiji were vibrant and real. We learned so much in a short time through tours experiencing nature, schools, villages, and ceremonies. I stayed at a resort and was not outside the consumer-based aspects of tourism. Changing an entire industry is not within my scope of control, but what is within my control is making meaning from what I witness and sharing it here.
In traditional iTaukei society, each village is structured around kinship groups called mataqali, or clans. Each mataqali historically carried a role that supported the whole village.
Here are five commonly recognized roles:
Turaga – the chiefly clan (leaders)
Bete – the priestly clan (spiritual leaders)
Bati – the warrior clan (protectors)
Mata ni Vanua – the spokesperson clan (ceremonial orators, diplomats)
Gonedau – the fisher clan (providers from the sea)
Our guide shared that he came from a family of Spokespeople. The Spokesperson speaks on behalf of the Chief, who may remain silent. It is more than a job. It is identity and responsibility carried through lineage. The system reflects interdependence within the village.
Today, these roles are often ceremonial and cultural, and clan identity still matters socially and in relation to land. Traditional villages vary in size, and the one we visited just outside Nadi appeared to include around twenty homes clustered around a central grassy area known as the rara. There was a church, a larger meeting structure, and smaller buildings for gathering and daily life. The scale felt intimate and relational.
Within the village, you are expected to uphold your role, the role of your clan, the role your family has always held. But outside of the village, you can work any kind of job you wish. This is what started my synapses firing off: “Ah yes, we all have an inner village in which our role is clear!”, I thought.
Roles Through Archetypes
My work with archetypes mirrors an inner village: ten roles across five realms. Realm of Order: The Sovereign, The Strategist Realm of Relationships: The Nurturer, The Lover Realm of Creativity: The Dreamer, The Storyteller Realm of Change: The Renegade, The Transformer Realm of Action: The Warrior, The Explorer
This framework through Archetypes at Work ™ is informed by James Hillman, astrology, and Jungian psychology. The premise is that we contain all ten archetypes in varying degrees. Three tend to lead. Two may remain more hidden or underdeveloped.
When the Spokesperson guided us through the village and spoke about lineage, I immediately thought of The Storyteller. Mercury. Hermes. The Jester. Those who are attuned to this archetype often arise as speakers, teachers, writers, comedians, translators, tour guides, or facilitators. Yet archetypes are not confined to career. The Storyteller might also be the accountant who plays office pranks, the store clerk who remembers your name, or the uncle who keeps family gatherings alive with animated stories.
In a lineage-based system, a role may be clearer from the start. In many contemporary settings, that clarity is less obvious. So how do people recognize their archetypal strengths? What happens when certain roles remain unnamed or uninitiated? How are structural archetypes embodied within a culture, a community, or a family?
Traditional Fijian village life (through the mataqali system) didn’t ask, “What do you want to be?” It asked, “Who are you within the whole?” That’s a radically different question.
When we try to discover our calling in isolation, it can feel abstract. In a village setting, roles are mirrored, witnessed, and reinforced. There is recognition. There is responsibility. There is continuity.
Is there a way to rediscover that sense of structure while still honoring individual choice?
In The Ballad of Mulan, Hua Mulan is expected to be a good daughter, a good match for marriage, and eventually a good mother. When her father is called to war, she disguises herself as a man and takes his place. The Warrior archetype within her is activated through circumstance and necessity. Her story illustrates that multiple archetypes can live within one person, even when only one is socially visible. Had she merely kept the role she, and all other women of her village were destined to inherit, she would have never broken new ground into liberation. Her inner Warrior could have led to frustration, impatience, and great inner and outer conflict had it not had the chance to fully express.
The Outer Village and The Inner Village
Archetypally, we all carry an inner village. We embody The Nurturer when listening to a friend, The Explorer when learning something new, The Strategist when legitimizing a method.
When external structures shift or dissolve, we are invited to cultivate our inner village more consciously. Maybe life’s work is less about selecting a single identity and more about allowing these roles to counsel together. Choice becomes a dialogue among parts rather than a reaction to pressure.
Each of us has Leading Archetypes. Some are Core and have always felt natural. Others are Current and arise during certain seasons. A person with The Warrior in their Top Three may be comfortable with challenge and boundaries while also needing to watch for impatience or competitiveness. Someone in a highly structured job may strengthen The Strategist over time, only to discover that archetype feels less accessible when external systems disappear. The inner village adapts in response to circumstance.
Self Initiation
In many Western contexts, the dilemma is this: We want to be told what to do without being told what to do. There is freedom of choice but little ritual around recognizing gifts. There is no communal ceremony naming your strengths. There is no formal initiation into adulthood that clarifies your role. This can feel disorienting. It can also be an invitation.
Self initiation requires reflection, practice, and discernment. It asks us to observe which archetypes feel alive and which feel dormant. It asks us to notice patterns in what energizes us and what depletes us.
When I think about the village outside Nadi, I think about the relief that can come from clarity. There is less guesswork when roles are defined. That clarity can provide stability and orientation. This is the same takeaway that friends of mine who have experienced voluntary arranged marriage describe it.
I am the “deep sheep” of my family, and was always extremely different from my parents. My own life has unfolded through moments of inner initiation. Through confronting guilt and shame, I created space to listen more closely to my intuition. Two major turning points redirected me toward my partner and to working with sound and symbols as a multi-pronged calling. Those experiences felt less like force and more like alignment.
For me, the meeting point lies between rigid assignment and overwhelming choice. There is a space where we listen to the voices of our inner village, feel into the life force of each archetype, and consciously choose how to express them in service of our communities.
The village we build now exists within us first. When we understand our leading archetypes, we gain language for our strengths, our shadows, and our seasons of change. From there, participation becomes more intentional, and contribution more coherent.
If this reflection sparks curiosity about your own inner village – to work with the archetypes, sign up for the next intake of Coaching on the Go here!
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