The Forgotten Cataclysm: A Reflection on Lost Civilizations and the Disevolution of Man

There are moments in the silence of history when the Earth seems to whisper what we have not yet remembered. Beneath our feet lie not only the bones of animals and the ruins of empires, but perhaps the ashes of a civilization that once rivaled our own—a people who rose to mastery and then fell into oblivion, not through gradual decline, but through a cataclysm so total that even memory recoiled. Science speaks of five great extinctions, each a planetary reset, each a veil drawn over what came before. But what if one of those veils hides not only the end of species, but the erasure of sentient order? What if intelligence once bloomed, only to be buried beneath fire, ice, or cosmic impact? The fossil record is not a perfect archive. Time is a ruthless editor. Metal corrodes, cities crumble, language dies. In ten million years, what would remain of us? A few isotopic anomalies, a layer of plastic, a silence in the stone. And so I ask: is it arrogance or amnesia that makes us believe we are the first? Disevolution is not a myth—it is a biological and spiritual reality. After every collapse, life returns, but not always wiser. Complexity can regress. Consciousness can dim. A species may survive and yet forget itself. The soul of a people can be scattered like ash in the wind. As a historian, archaeologist, and servant of the Eternal, I do not write this to indulge fantasy, but to awaken reverence. Reverence for the fragility of memory. Reverence for the possibility that we are not the pinnacle, but the echo. Reverence for the sacred duty to remember, to preserve, to rise not only in knowledge but in wisdom. If a civilization once stood where now there is only stone, then we are not merely heirs of the Earth—we are its stewards, its scribes, its mourners. And perhaps, if we listen deeply enough, its prophets.

Eleazar Majors, Founder of the Universal Christian Church