The Pig, The People, and the Problem of Disgust

A princess is kidnapped. The ransom note arrives. It doesn’t ask for money, or political reform. It demands that the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, live on television, have sex with a pig.

By the end of Black Mirror’s “The National Anthem,” he does it. Millions watch. And the country splits—not just in shock, but in how they judge him.

Some see only degradation. Others see a grim kind of nobility. One act, two moral verdicts.

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Why the Same Act Splits Us

Here’s the paradox: the scene is fixed—there’s no ambiguity about what happened—yet people’s moral compasses swing in opposite directions.

For one group, the pig is unforgivable. The act triggers a deep sense of contamination, a collapse of human dignity, an irreversible violation. It feels worse than murder, because it is not just physical but moral pollution.

For another group, the pig is beside the point. What matters is the Princess’s life. The Prime Minister’s shame becomes a necessary sacrifice, a grotesque but courageous choice to endure humiliation so someone else can live.

This is the crux of it: morality isn’t one track. Some emphasize purity, others emphasize harm. Which one you lean on determines whether you see the ending as damnation or redemption.

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The Biology of Disgust

To understand why the pig splits us, you have to look at disgust itself.

Disgust began as a survival tool. Our ancestors who gagged at rotten meat or avoided bodily fluids were less likely to contract parasites. The gag reflex is basically an immune system at the level of behavior.

But humans did something unusual: we took that physical system and expanded it into the moral realm. The same insula in the brain that lights up when you smell spoiled food also fires when you hear about betrayal, corruption, or taboo sex acts. Moral disgust piggybacks on biological disgust.

Which means when Callow is blackmailed, some of us feel the act not just as morally wrong but viscerally revolting—because our bodies can’t separate “disease threat” from “dignity threat.”

The Flip Side: Sacrifice

Yet others override that disgust with another instinct just as ancient: protect the vulnerable. Humans are a cooperative species. Our survival has always depended on individuals enduring risk and humiliation for the sake of the group.

From this lens, Callow’s act is grotesque but moral. He absorbs the shame so that the Princess—and the nation—survives. It’s the same neural circuitry that makes parents endure hardship for their children, or soldiers take bullets for comrades. Loyalty and care can outweigh purity.

The Crowd’s Split Gaze

The brilliance of the episode is that we see both reactions in real time. Early in the day, most citizens say: “Impossible. He can’t.” By afternoon, as the Princess’s life hangs in the balance, the tone shifts: “He has no choice.”

It’s the split between disgust and sacrifice, between protecting the body and protecting the group.

But when the act actually happens, the nation watches with the same captivated disgust that made our ancestors gather around executions. Morality dissolves into voyeurism. By the time the Princess is freed—before the act even takes place—no one notices. All eyes are glued to the screen.

The Aftermath

The Princess lives. The Prime Minister’s approval rating ticks upward. The people move on.

But in his private life, disgust wins. His wife withdraws. The marriage corrodes. Public sacrifice cannot erase private contamination. Evolution wired us to forgive many things, but not the collapse of sanctity in those closest to us.