Vairagya and Variables: Seeing Clearly in Practice
Just Because Two Things Happen Together Doesn’t Mean They’re Connected
(Or: Why Sarah’s New Shoes Aren’t a Scientific Discovery)
In systems thinking, causal independence means: if one thing doesn’t cause another, they’re not truly connected—no matter how often they happen together.
Like Sarah. She grew taller and started school at the same time. That doesn’t mean school made her grow, or growing made school start. She still needed new shoes, but the growth and school weren’t connected. They just lined up.
Same in yoga.
Just because you feel peaceful after a deep backbend doesn’t mean the backbend caused the peace. Maybe it was the breath. Maybe it was breakfast. Maybe it was sleep.
Don’t guess. Pay attention.
Real progress comes from real causes:
- Breath
- Focus (drishti)
- Consistent practice
- Smart sequencing
Big poses and mood swings? That’s background noise unless it’s connected to real input.
Don’t confuse timing with cause.
In systems thinking, causal independence means: if one thing doesn’t cause another, they’re not truly connected—no matter how often they happen together.
Don’t guess. Assess. Pay attention.
So here’s the point:
Don’t chase what’s visible.
Work with what shifts the system.
If two variables are causally independent, they won’t reliably correlate. No cause, no effect. Yogic wisdom expresses something similar through vairagya—detachment. A steady practitioner learns to recognize what truly shifts their system and what merely appears significant. The payoff? Less confusion. Fewer distractions. More clarity.
This distinction helps teachers and students separate performance from progress. It’s common to assume that visible skill in a posture reflects inner growth—because they often show up together. But like independent variables, external ability and internal steadiness can be uncorrelated unless deliberately integrated. A dramatic backbend—say, Kapotasana—might showcase flexibility without revealing meditative depth. Meanwhile, a practitioner with limited mobility but consistent breath work and focused drishti may be cultivating profound steadiness.
The Ashtanga tradition has always pointed practice toward causes: breath, attention, sequencing, and consistent self-inquiry. Not outcomes.
For teachers, Rule 1 offers diagnostic clarity. When a student expresses anxiety about “not progressing,” it’s tempting to evaluate the posture. But often the root is elsewhere: fear, perfectionism, or comparison. These are false correlations. A more effective response is to focus on causal levers: anchor their pranayama, refine alignment cues, and help them build a steady rhythm of personal practice. If they feel safe and consistent, the system self-corrects.
Overexertion—pushing for flexibility or peak postures without sufficient breath or preparatory work—rests on a mistaken causal assumption. Flexibility doesn’t cause clarity. Systems thinking favors integration. Blend strength, stability, breath, and awareness through intelligent sequencing and responsive feedback. The Systems Diagnostics guide offers practical tools to approach the practice as an interwoven whole rather than a collection of isolated targets.
Philosophically, this approach aligns with the Bhagavad Gita’s counsel: act without attachment to results. When practice focuses on what actually shifts the system—breath, attention, habit—then results arise as side effects, not as aims. Detachment doesn’t mean apathy. It means practicing with precision, humility, and patience. Put simply: work your pranayama and your drishti more than your backbends.
The same principle applies in Ayurveda: not all inputs affect all imbalances. One-size-fits-all interventions don’t work in subtle systems. Tailor practice to the student’s constitution, condition, and capacity.
At the teaching level, empowering students to notice cause and effect in their own system is transformational. Invite them to journal: how does a shift in breathing pattern affect sleep? How does rest change mood? Encourage them to explore Mysore-style or home practice, where they can test variables in a live system. That’s how insight forms—not from mimicry, but from observation.
Even psychological obstacles follow this logic. The kleshas—those root afflictions—often show up as surface behaviors: resistance to practice, fixation on outcomes, agitation. But the root causes—avidya, asmita, raga—don’t live in the posture. They live in how we relate to it. A practice that targets these directly—through breath, study, and attention—goes further than any aesthetic achievement.