When schools or cities change a symbol, it’s rarely just cosmetic. From mascots to mountains, these choices reveal what we honor, what we reject, and why.
Photo courtesy of Newswire
The news that my old high school changed mascots from a Cavalier to a dog named “Blade” made me chuckle. Who doesn’t love a good dog? Kids will connect better with a furry four-legged friend. He’s far more relatable than an ancient horseman in tights. Change can be good, and in this case, it is a good call.
But let’s peel back a layer: the Cavalier wasn’t retired just because kids prefer puppies. My Alma mater seems to be distancing itself from its “Northern European” roots in general. How do we separate the wheat from the chaff of our heritage?
The Hidden Assumption: Power Is the Problem
The Cavalier stood for courage, law, and order. And maybe an oppressive class system to some. But does tearing down old symbols really create a neutral option? In fact, it trades one power for another—the “unimpeachable” power of pluralism.
Pluralism claims all values are equal, yet it quietly presses for its own ranking system. Some beliefs end up “more equal” than others. There’s no clear basis for what’s acceptable. And the social pressure to conform to its assumptions simply replaces the old order with a new one.
The Moralism of Modern Pluralism
Pluralism presents itself as the public, neutral creed. But it’s anything but neutral. Its beliefs remain undeclared, but they are there.
Undeclared beliefs can’t be examined, questioned, or tested. They just operate in the background, quietly shaping what counts as acceptable.
Declared beliefs, on the other hand, are far less manipulative. They require courage, because once you name them, you have to defend them. You have to show their basis and why they lead to real human flourishing.
What We Lose When We Flatten Values
Pluralism flattens all beliefs as equally valid which sounds generous, but it’s really a vague indifference. And indifference is not what led to the universal human rights we take for granted in the West. Justice grew out of clear convictions, not vague ideals. Self-sacrifice is better than self-indulgence, courage nobler than cowardice, loyalty stronger than betrayal. These aren’t arbitrary; they are the bedrock of a flourishing culture.
That’s why healthy institutions practice generosity toward all while also defending the very principles that make generosity possible. And those principles beg the question: where do they come from, and what secures them when power shifts?
This is where Christianity has offered its deepest gift. At its best, it reflects both humility and hope. It reflects humility because righteousness is a gift, not an achievement. It reflects hope because truth rests on principle, not power.
Back to Blade
So yes, I’m all for giving kids a good dog. Blade will no doubt be a hit. But behind the dog may lurk a dogma—the myth of moral neutrality. It caves on shared values and defaults to personal autonomy defended by virtue signaling.
“You do you” sounds generous, but underneath is the fear of being shamed if you disagree.
The real question is this: what story truly forms people of generosity? The Gospel is that story—offering the welcome we long for and the clarity we need. Like a scalpel, even its truth is a grace–its blade cuts only to heal.
The cavaliers were supporters of Charles 1. I would think that any good Presbyterian would applaud throwing them over.
There you go! They needed you on that committee.