Memory, in point of fact, is impeded by the body: even as things are, addition often brings forgetfulness; with thinning and dearing away, memory will often revive. The soul is a stability; the shifting and fleeting thing which body is can be a cause only of its forgetting not of its remembering- Lethe stream may be understood in this senseand memory is a fact of the soul.
— Plotinus
Plotinus is doing something seductive here, and it is worth feeling the seduction before you trust it. The argument is clean: soul is stability, body is flux, therefore the body can only subtract from memory, never contribute to it. Lethe — the river of forgetting — runs through matter, not through nous. Strip the body away, thin the corporeal static, and recollection resurfaces like a signal freed from interference. It is beautiful logic, and it moves in a single direction: upward, away from flesh, toward the self-sufficient soul that neither accretes nor decays.
But the clinical and somatic traditions have learned something Plotinus could not accommodate: trauma lives in the body's own memory, in posture and breath and startle response, in tissue that holds what consciousness has not yet been able to bear knowing. That is not forgetfulness; that is a different kind of remembering entirely — one that doesn't thin away with spiritual refinement but deepens when the body is actually attended to. The body, on this reading, is not Lethe. It may be closer to the opposite: the one archive that does not cooperate with the soul's preference for clean stability, the one record that insists on what the pneumatic ascent would rather leave behind.
Plotinus·The Six Enneads·270