Otherwise, at other times, [the seer] is absorbed in the changing states [of the mind].

Bryant Commentary:

Patañjali states here that at other times—that is, when not abiding in its own nature as pure consciousness devoid of content—the seer is absorbed, sārūpyam, in the vṛttis, the mind’s changing states. Vyāsa calls the soul the master and the mind its property: He compares the mind to a magnet that attracts iron within its proximity—the consciousness of puruṣa. The mind serves its master, the soul, by presenting objects of experience in the form of vṛttis. When these ever-changing states of mind are presented to the soul, the soul becomes conscious of them, but is mistakenly identified with them by the citta, and thereby appears affected by them. This misidentification, or ignorance, avidyā, is the cause of the soul’s apparent bondage in the physical world of matter. Vācaspati Miśra repeats the analogy of someone looking in a dirty mirror, identifying with the dirty reflection, and then becoming anxious thinking he or she is dirty. Likewise, when one is not aware of the distinction between consciousness and the mind, one wrongly attributes the states of the mind to the self. The cause of the person’s anxiety, frustrations, and experiences is misidentification with something that he or she is not.
The notion of misidentifying the true self with a false reflection goes back to the Upaniṣads. In the Chāndogya Upaniṣad (VIII.8–12), there is a charming narrative about Indra, lord of the celestials, and Virocaṇa, lord of the demons. Upon hearing that by attaining the ātman, one conquers the universe, the two rivals approached the sage Prajāpati for instruction as to where to find this ātman. Perceiving their misguided intent for this enterprise (their interest was in gaining control over the universe, for which the gods and demons are perennially battling), Prajāpati decides to test them. He tells them that they can find the ātman by looking into a pan of water. Peering into the waters, the two see their bodies reflected back. They take their leave, thinking that their bodies are this ātman, and, while Virocaṇa remains content with this surface realization, Indra sees the inadequacy of this view of the ātman and so returns to Prajāpati. “I see no worth in this,” he complains, “for this self will die when the body dies.” Prajāpati then takes him through progressively more subtle understandings of the self until he teaches him the true nature of ātman.
Although the mind is actually inert and unconscious, say the commentators, as a result of being permeated by the consciousness of the soul, its states and fluctuations appear to be states of the true self and are as if experienced by the self. (Recall the analogy of a dark object appearing to be luminous due to contact with an illuminating lamp.) And so, says Vācaspati Miśra, the soul, which has no misconceptions, appears to have misconceptions and, although completely pure and transcendent, appears to be affected by mundane states of mind such as pleasure, pain, or delusion. This is like the phenomenon of a lake appearing to have trees on it due to the reflection of the trees on its bank, says Vijñānabhikṣu. Bhoja Rāja gives the well-known illustration of the moon appearing to be altered and rippled when reflected on rippling water, but it is the water, not the moon, that constantly fluctuates due to the wind. Similarly, the mind is constantly experiencing and processing the forms of sense objects through the senses. It is thus constantly changing, like the flame of a candle, says Vijñānabhikṣu, and, depending on the experiences of the moment, producing temporary states such as happiness, distress, etc. The self, although pure, is then misidentified with these changing states of the mind, due to proximity, and appears also to be affected. It seems to experience the emotions of the mind triggered by the senses and their objects, and thus to be the enjoyer or sufferer of the things of this world. In reality it is not affected, any more than the moon is affected by the ripples on its reflection in water. Vijñānabhikṣu quotes the Gītā: “One who sees that all activities are being performed by prakṛti, and that the self is not the doer, truly sees” (XIII.29).

Śaṅkara here alludes to the image of a dancing girl in the Sāṅkhya Kārikās, the primary text for the Sāṅkhya school: “As a dancer ceases from the dance after having been seen by the audience, so also prakṛti ceases after having manifested herself to the puruṣa” (LIX). In the same vein, a more modern analogy comes to mind for the process by which prakṛti is conjoined with puruṣa. Consider a group of people watching a film. The film itself consists of just a sequence of inert flickering images and sounds, which are nothing more than light particles and frequency waves—material energy. The people watching the film, however, can become so absorbed in this spectacle of light and sound that they forget their own existence. If the film is a good one, two or three hours can pass during which the viewers forget about their real lives and personal issues they are undergoing, such as mental anxieties or fears, or bodily needs or aches and pains. Moreover, the viewers can become so wrapped up in the illusory world of the film that they experience, let us suppose, sadness when the hero or heroine is killed, or happiness when hero and heroine live happily ever after. In other words, the viewers forget their own separate existences and experience emotions produced by intense identification with the illusory and separate world of the film. Indeed, a good performance (and this is also the case in classical Hindu dramaturgy) aims to stir precisely such absorption and identification. When the film is over, the viewers are thrust back into their own realities—they are suddenly returned to the world of their own problems, perhaps they become aware of being hungry or thirsty.

In the same way, due to the mind’s ignorance and illusion, the soul appears absorbed in the lights and sounds and emotions of the external objective world and forgetful of its own real nature as pure consciousness, even though it is merely the witness of all these, which are actually taking place in the mind’s vṛttis. Yoga is about stilling the vṛttis, stopping the film midway so that the mind can realize that the emotions, fears, happiness, pains, births and deaths, etc., it has been experiencing do not exist in the soul but are the inert flickerings and permutations of the material spectacle. Thus yoga is ultimately about liberation from the external material world, or, in traditional Hindu terms, from saṁsāra, the cycle of birth and death.

Vācaspati Miśra raises the question of the cause of the soul’s association with the mind in the first place, in other words, the cause of ignorance. It is eternal, he answers, like the relationship between seed and sprout. Almost all schools of Indic philosophy conceive of ignorance as eternal and do not speculate over any first impetus that caused the individual to be associated with ignorance and saṁsāra. As the Buddha is reputed to have said, if a man is shot by an arrow, it is useless to inquire as to the nature of the arrow, its point of origin, etc. One should more profitably first remove the arrow.58 Likewise, for one drowning in the ocean of birth and death, saṁsāra, it is fruitless to speculate as to how one originally fell in; it would be more productive to find first a means to get out. Such a means, of course, is yoga.

At Other Times The Seer Appears To Assume The Form Of The Modifications Of The Mind.

Otherwise, awareness takes itself to be the patterns of consciousness.

At all other times, the Self appears to assume the form of thought’s vacillations and the True Self is lost.

In other states there is assimilation (of the Seer) with the modifications (of the mind).

Taimini Commentary:

 When the Citta-Vrttis are not in the state of Nirodha and the Drasta is not established in his Svarupa he is assimilated with the particular Vrtti which happens to occupy the field of his consciousness for the moment. A simile will perhaps help the student to understand this assimilation of consciousness with the transformation of the mind. Let him imagine a lighted electric bulb suspended in a tank full of limpid water. If the water is churned violently by some mechanical contrivance it will make all kinds of patterns in three dimensions round the bulb, these patterns being illuminated by the light from the bulb and changing from moment to moment. But what about the bulb itself? It will disappear from view, all the light emanating from it being assimilated with or lost in the surrounding water. Now, let him imagine the churning of water slowed down gradually until the water becomes perfectly still. As the three dimensional patterns begin to subside gradually the electric bulb gradually emerges into view and when the water is quite at rest the bulb alone is seen. This simile illustrates in a rather crude way both the assimilation of the consciousness of the Purusa with the modification of the mind and its reversion to its own unmodified state when the mind comes to rest. The mind may come to rest either through Para-Vairagya developed by Isvara-pranidhana or through the practice of Samadhi the result in both cases is the same—Enlightenment—and Liberation.

This Sutra, like the previous one, is meant to answer only in a general way the question ‘what happens to the Purusa when he is not established in his Svarupa?’ Its full significance can be understood only after the whole book has been studied thoroughly, and the various aspects of the subject understood adequately.

At other times, the seer identifies with the fluctuating consciousness.

Iyengar Commentary:

When the seer identifies with consciousness or with the objects seen, he unites with them and forgets his grandeur.

The natural tendency of consciousness is to become involved with the object seen, draw the seer towards it, and move the seer to identify with it. Then the seer becomes engrossed in the object. This becomes the seed for diversification of the intelligence, and makes the seer forget his own radiant awareness.
When the soul does not radiate its own glory, it is a sign that the thinking faculty has manifested itself in place of the soul.

The imprint of objects is transmitted to citta through the senses of perception. Citta absorbs these sensory impressions and becomes coloured and modified by them. Objects act as provender for the grazing citta, which is attracted to them by its appetite. Citta projects itself, taking on the form of the objects in order to possess them. Thus it becomes enveloped by thoughts of the object, with the result that the soul is obscured. In this way, citta becomes murky and causes changes in behaviour and mood as it identifies itself with things seen. (See III.36.)

Although in reality citta is a formless entity, it can be helpful to visualize it in order to grasp its functions and limitations. Let us imagine it to be like an optical lens, containing no light of its own, but placed directly above a source of pure light, the soul. One face of the lens, facing inwards towards the light, remains clean. We are normally aware of this internal facet of citta only when it speaks to us with the voice of conscience.

In daily life, however, we are very much aware of the upper surface of the lens, facing outwards to the world and linked to it by the senses and mind. This surface serves both as a sense, and as a content of consciousness, along with ego and intelligence. Worked upon by the desires and fears of turbulent worldly life, it becomes cloudy, opaque, even dirty and scarred, and prevents the soul’s light from shining through it. Lacking inner illumination, it seeks all the more avidly the artificial lights of conditioned existence. The whole technique of yoga, its practice and restraint, is aimed at dissociating consciousness from its identification with the phenomenal world, at restraining the senses by which it is ensnared, and at cleansing and purifying the lens of citta, until it transmits wholly and only the light of the soul.
(See II.20; IV.22.)

At other times [the Self appears to] assume the forms of the mental modifications.

Satchidananda Commentary:

You seem to have lost your original identity and have identified with your thoughts and body. Suppose I ask you who you are. If you say, “I am a man, ” you have identified yourself with a masculine body. If you say, “I am a professor, ” you are identifying with the ideas gathered in your brain. If you say, “I am a millionaire, ” you are identifying with your bank account; if “a mother, ” with a child; “a husband, ” with a wife. “I am tall; I am short; I am black or white” shows your identification with the shape and color of the body. But without any identifications, who are you? Have you ever thought about it? When you really understand that, you will see we are all the same. If you detach yourself completely from all the things you have identified yourself with, you realize yourself as the pure “I.” In that pure “I” there is no difference between you and me.

This is true not only with human beings, but with everything. You call something a dog because it has a dog’s body. The spirit in a dog and a human is the same. The same is true even with inanimate objects; there is the same spirit in a stone or a wall. If I use the term “spirit, ” or “Self, ” you might hesitate to believe me, but if the physicist says the wall is nothing but energy, you will believe that. So, using the scientist’s language, there is nothing but energy everywhere. Even the atom is a form of energy. The same energy appears in different forms to which we also give different names. So the form and name are just different versions of the same energy. And, according to the Yogic scientists such as Patañjali—and even many modern scientists—behind the different forms of energy is one unchanging consciousness or spirit or Self.

That is why, if we could calm our minds and get to the basis of all these modifications, we would find the unity among everything. That is the real Yogic life. That does not mean we are indifferent to the changes and become useless to the world. Instead, with this experience of universal unity, we function better. We will have happy and harmonious lives. Only then can we love our neighbors as our own Self. Otherwise, how is it possible? If I identify myself with my body, I will also see another person as a body and the two bodies cannot be one—they are always different. If I identify myself with my mind, nobody can have a mind exactly like mine. No two individuals have the same body or mind, even twins. Even to the extent of the half-inch-square thumb, we are not the same. Ask the fingerprint experts; they will tell you no two fingerprints are the same.

But behind all these differences, in the Self, we never differ. That means behind all these ever-changing phenomena is a neverchanging One. That One appears to change due to our mental modifications. So, by changing your mind, you change everything. If only we could understand this point, we would see that there is nothing wrong outside; it is all in the mind. By correcting our vision, we correct things outside. If we can cure our jaundiced eye, nothing will look yellow. But without correcting the jaundice, however much we scrub the outside things, we are not going to make them white or blue or green; they will always be yellow. That’s why Yoga is based on self-reformation, self-control and self-adjustment. When this reformation is accomplished we will see a new world, a harmonious and happy world. That’s why we should always keep ourselves free from these wrong identifications.

At other times (other than that of concentration) the seer is identified with the modifications.

SV Commentary:

For instance, I am in a state of sorrow; someone blames me; this is a modification, Vrtti, and I identify myself with it, and the result is misery. 

How then? On account of objects being presented to it, identification with modifications takes place elsewhere. The conscious principle (purusa) is not unaffected by whatever may be the modifications of the mind in the state of outgoing activity. And so in the aphorism

“Knowledge is but one; discrimination alone is knowledge.”

The mind is like a magnet energized by nearness alone. Being seen it becomes the possession of its lord, the purusa. Therefore the reason for knowing the modifications of the mind is the eternal relation of the purusa.

~ Rāma Prasāda translation.

Yogasūtrabhāṣyavivaraṇa
or the Pātañjalayogaśāstravivaraṇa
by Śaṅkara

Patañjali Sūtra I.4

Otherwise, it conforms itself to the mental process

In the extraverted state, whatever the process in the mind, Puruṣa has a process not distinguished from it. Asa sūtra says: There is only one sight, and the sight is knowledge alone.

(Opponent) If though it is so means that power-of-consciousness does rest in its own nature even when mind is extraverted, and not so denies that it so rests, there is the contradiction that the same thing both is so and is not so, and our side asks in bewilderment, How can this be?

(Answer) The answer from our side is, Otherwise, it conforms itself to the mental process.

(Opponent) Well, why does it conform to it?

(Answer) Because objects have been displayed to it. Though in the two cases there is no distinction as to the resting in its own nature, still there is a distinction according to whether it conforms to the mental processes or not, and so it is not a contradiction between being so and being not so.

(Opponent) Connection with conformity to a mental process is connection with a different state, and must entail defects like changeability.

(Answer) The answer lies in the fact that objects have been displayed to it. The apparent change is not intrinsic but projected (adhyāropita), like a crystal’s taking on the colour of something put near it. In the extraverted state outside the inhibited state whatever the process in the mind tainted or untainted, there is a process not distinguished from it, like it, which is natural to this one (Puruṣa). Without a process in the mind, and without this nature (of Puruṣa), there would be no process in Puruṣa. There is always something known to Puruṣa, so no change is involved in him. There is a sūtra by an earlier teacher (ācārya): There is only one sight, and the sight is knowledge (khyāti) alone. There is only one sight (darśana) of buddhi and of Puruṣa. What does this mean? The sight is knowledge alone. Sight is a process of the mind (buddhi). It is a knowledge in the sense that it is known by Puruṣa; it is also knowledge in the sense that by it the nature of buddhi and of Puruṣa is known. It is an instrument in that the form of the object is apprehended by it, and it is an object inasmuch as it is apprehended by its own nature as knowledge; similarly, it is a sight in that it is seen, and also sight in that things are seen by it; it is knowledge (jñāna) in that it is known and also that things are known by it. This is how it is all to be understood.

(Opponent) But mind itself is the knowing agent (khyātikartṛ); it is that which is known and which knows. There is no need to suppose any other knowing.

(Answer) That we shall refute when we come to the sūtra, (Mind) is not self-illumining because it is something perceived (IV.19).

(Opponent) If all this is simply manifested (parivjṛmbhita) by mind, and Puruṣa sits apart, how can he be the experiencer (bhoktṛ)?

(Answer) Why not? Agents (kāraka) are of various kinds. Some are operational, and some are effective by mere proximity without any operation. When we say that one cooks, the man active in putting things on the fire and so on is called the agent; the pot, though not performing any operation by its holding and supporting the food, is still called a ‘cooker’. The space in the pot itself does provide a place for the food, but we do not take this to be an operation by it. Again, there is the king who is an agent by merely appearing (at the council), whereupon all the (ministerial) agencies become agents carrying out their own operations. The sun does not look to some external instrument for his shining, nor does he perform any operation. He does not produce some previously non-existent shining as he comes and goes. It is simply that shining is his nature. So he is said to illumine by proximity alone, manifesting jars and so on as bright forms. In our present case too, the mental processes, pervaded by his nature as consciousness (cid-ātman), are seen by Puruṣa who is pure sight. To show how Puruṣa is the seer he now says: Mind is like a magnet. Even the philosopher who holds that knowledge (jñāna) arises from a conjunction of the self (ātman) and mind (manas), calls the self the knower (jñātṛ), as pervading the known object by knowledge, not as performing an operation. Knowledge too, being (in his view) an attribute (guṇa) of the self, is without action; it is simply its nature to show objects. It cannot be maintained that a man cannot be said to know without some action, for a man is said to know when he pervades the object with knowledge. If, however, new knowledge is assumed from conjunction of the self and mind, that knowledge belongs to self and not to the mind, for it is said that he knows, and not that his mind knows. Why?

(Opponent) Admitted, but the reason is that the self is what we call the inherent cause (samavāyī-kāraṇa, having knowledge as an attribute).

(Answer) That has not been established. Just as what had to be demonstrated was, why the knowledge should belong to the self (and not to the mind), so it would have to be demonstrated why self should be the inherent cause, and not mind, inasmuch as you maintain that mind is not itself the self, and that knowledge arises from conjunction of the two.

(Opponent) Let it be because of the recollection in memory of the saṃskāra, laid down by the knowledge, of the self as the sole agent.

(Answer) No, for that too would have to be demonstrated. In that case also it has to be shown why the saṃskāra of knowledge and the recollection of the memory should relate only to the self and not to the mind.

(Opponent) Let us say that it is because desire (icchā, an attribute of self in our system) and its fulfilment are (referred to) the same place.

(Answer) No, again it is the same thing. Once (it is accepted that) they are produced by a conjunction, it cannot be shown why the results and the desire should pertain to self alone and not to mind. Moreover, this knowledge too is accepted (by you) to be a knowable object, so an infinite regress will follow. And it cannot be that one knowledge should be known by the instrument of another knowledge, and that by another, and that by another, endlessly. To avoid the regress, one might say that at some point there is a knowledge which is primary, perceived not by some other knowledge but spontaneously by itself alone. But this would imply that (other) objects too should be able to perceive themselves spontaneously, just as knowledge is held to do.

(Opponent) Let us say that knowledge itself shines, and it makes others shine, being naturally luminous like a lamp, and so there is no defect in the argument, because nothing else is naturally luminous.

(Answer) Then even things like lights would never be known.

(Opponent) Well, knowledge knows spontaneously because it is an attribute of the self, and is luminous by nature as well, whereas things like lights which shine outwards are of opposite character to knowledge. So the argument holds.

(Answer) Not that either. If to be an attribute of the self and also luminous by nature were a cause for spontaneous knowing by knowledge, everyone would be omniscient.

(Opponent) There also has to be some knowable form.

(Answer) Not even that. (For knowledge to know itself) the cause of one knowledge would be the fact of the form of another knowledge, and in the same way, the form of the first knowledge as a knowable would cause yet another knowledge, and so the regress would be unavoidable. Furthermore, no example is found to instance anything being subject and object for itself; even a light needs an eye to be known. Nor (can it be said that there) are two parts in knowledge, since it has no parts. Even if it had, since they would both be luminous, they could not be subject and object to each other, any more than two lights. Furthermore, if being both subject and object were accepted of knowledge, it could never be the real nature of the self. Therefore knowledge of objective forms, and memory, and its recall, and effort and desire and so on, are all essentially not-self, because they are objects of knowledge like outer forms, and because they exist-for-another (parārtha) as is shown by their dependence on the body-mind aggregate for the manifestation of their forms and other qualities. So because they have dependence, and are impermanent, and are accompanied by effort – for these and similar reasons it is certain that they are essentially not-self. Mind is like a magnet, serving by mere proximity, by the fact of being seen. It is the property of its owner, Puruṣa. There is a beginningless relation, and this is the cause of Puruṣa’s awareness of the mental processes. Mind is as it were a magnet. As a magnet serves to pervade with itself the iron, by merely being placed near it, so the mind serves to pervade with itself the self (ātman) which is pure consciousness, by the fact of being seen by it. It is spoken of as like a dancing-girl, because it puts on a display, by means of the inner-organ (antaḥkaraṇa – thought, emotion and so on). Here mind (citta) is the one who puts on the display, and Puruṣa is the one who sees it.

(Opponent) How does this distinction come about?

(Answer) It comes about as the relation of a thing to its owner.

(Opponent) But how does the relation of thing and owner come about?

(Answer) It is the nature of each.

(Opponent) What is this nature?

(Answer) Mind is comparable to a magnet.

(Opponent) What is the cause of Puruṣa’s being aware of the mind process?

(Answer) A magnet serves by mere proximity, the mind by the fact of being seen. There is a beginningless relation, and this is the cause of Puruṣa’s awareness of the mental processes.

There are many of them in the mind, and they are to be inhibited.