When Pigs Fly Origin The Devil Is An Ass

The phrase rolls off the tongue so easily we barely notice the absurdity. My boss will approve a four-day workweek when pigs fly. Because of that, when pigs fly. m. Even so, * We say it to shut down a request, to dismiss a promise, to mark something as permanently impossible. Day to day, when pigs fly. I'll go to the gym at 6 a.The Mets will win the World Series when pigs fly — okay, bad example, they actually did that twice.

But here's the thing most people don't know: the image of a pig taking flight wasn't always just a generic metaphor for the impossible. It has a specific, traceable lineage. And it runs straight through a Jacobean stage comedy written by Ben Jonson, a playwright who hated Shakespeare's guts and once killed a man in a duel.

What Is "When Pigs Fly" Actually Saying?

On the surface, it's simple. Worth adding: "When hell freezes over. The phrase belongs to a whole family of adynata*: rhetorical impossibilities used for emphasis. Pigs don't fly. They're heavy, earthbound, built for rooting in mud — not soaring through clouds. " "When the cows come home" (which, incidentally, implies they will* come home eventually, just on their own slow schedule). "A snowball's chance in hell.

But "when pigs fly" carries a particular flavor. It's not just impossible — it's ridiculously* impossible. On the flip side, the mental image does heavy lifting: a pink, snorting, decidedly non-aerodynamic pig flapping nonexistent wings. It's comedy and dismissal rolled into one.

The phrase as we know it today — "pigs might fly," "when pigs fly," "pigs can fly" — crystallized in the 19th and 20th centuries. But that's older. But the idea* of the flying pig as a symbol of the absurdly impossible? A lot older.

Why It Matters: The Devil, The Ass, and The Play That Started It

Here's where Ben Jonson enters the chat.

It's 1616. But buried in Act 1, Scene 1, a minor demon named Pug talks to Satan about his upcoming assignment on Earth. The Blackfriars Theatre. So naturally, london. Because of that, jonson's new comedy The Devil is an Ass* opens. The play is a mess — Jonson knew it, the audience knew it, and it closed after a handful of performances. Now, satan warns him that humans are already so corrupt, the devil has little work left to do. Pug insists he'll find plenty of mischief.

Then comes the line. Satan, dismissing Pug's optimism, essentially says: sure, and pigs will fly too.

The actual text reads:

Satan: ... and swyne would flye before that time.

Swyne.* Middle English for pigs. Flye.* Fly.

That's it. That's the ur-moment. Not immediately — Jonson's line didn't launch the phrase into common speech overnight. But it stuck. That said, a throwaway line in a failed play by a difficult, brilliant, jealous playwright. But it planted the specific image: the pig, the flight, the impossibility.

And the play's title? The Devil is an Ass.* That's its own rabbit hole. The devil is a fool for thinking he can corrupt Londoners; they're already doing a fine job themselves. That said, "Ass" here means fool, idiot, dupe — not the animal, though the double entendre is deliberate. The title and the pig line work together: the devil's an ass to think he's needed, and pigs would fly before humans got any worse.

Jonson didn't invent the flying pig from nothing. Here's the thing — medieval bestiaries and folk proverbs occasionally referenced impossible animal behaviors. But he codified* it. He gave English literature its first clear, memorable "pigs flying" reference in a major dramatic work. And because Jonson was — despite everything — one of the most studied and anthologized playwrights of his era, the line survived in print long after the play faded from the stage.

How It Works: From Stage Line to Cultural Shorthand

The journey from Jonson's "swyne would flye" to your coworker saying "I'll clean the microwave when pigs fly" isn't a straight line. It's a game of telephone played across centuries.

The 17th and 18th Century: Dormant but Documented

After Jonson, the phrase goes quiet in the written record. That doesn't mean nobody said it — just that it wasn't showing up in the kinds of texts that survive (plays, pamphlets, letters of the literate classes). Proverbs live in speech first, print second.

But we do see cousins. " The construction is shifting. John Ray's A Collection of English Proverbs* (1670) includes "Pigs may fly, but they're very unlikely birds" — a paraphrase, not a quote, suggesting the idea was circulating. "Swyne" becomes "pigs.The Oxford English Dictionary* cites a 1732 reference in The London Magazine*: "That is as likely as that pigs should fly." "Would flye" becomes "should fly," "may fly," "might fly.

The 19th Century: The Phrase Takes Flight

This is where it gets real. The 1800s see an explosion of print culture — newspapers, novels, magazines — and "pigs fly" starts appearing everywhere.

Charles Dickens uses a variant in The Pickwick Papers* (1836): "He'd as soon expect to see a pig fly." Thackeray, Trollope, Eliot — the Victorian novelists loved it. It becomes a standard rhetorical flourish, the kind of phrase that signals "I am a person of education and wit who reads the right books.

By the 1860s, "pigs might fly" is the dominant form in British English. Americans prefer "when pigs fly" or "pigs can fly." The divergence is real and persists today — a British friend will say "pigs might fly" with a shrug; an American says "when pigs fly" with finality.

The 20th Century: Pop Culture Cement

Two things lock the phrase into modern consciousness.

First: The Eagle* comic (1950s UK) runs a strip called "Dan Dare," where a recurring villain says "Pigs might fly!" as a catchphrase. Kids grow up hearing it weekly.

Second: Pink Floyd's Animals* album (1977). So it broke loose, drifted into Heathrow airspace, grounded flights. The irony was not lost on anyone. The inflatable pig — "Algie" — tethered over Battersea Power Station for the cover shoot. The pig literally flew*. The image of a flying pig became visual shorthand for the band, for the album's critique of capitalism, for the absurd made manifest.

After Animals*, the flying pig is everywhere. They don't need to. Worth adding: the Cincinnati "Flying Pig Marathon" (named because the city was once a pork-packing hub, and the idea of pigs flying was a local joke). Plus, most people using it have never heard of The Devil is an Ass*. Practically speaking, the phrase has fully detached from Jonson. Political cartoons. Advertising. The metaphor works on its own.

For more on this topic, read our article on symptoms of excessive stress include all of the following except: or check out what is 1 16 in decimal form.

Common Mistakes: What Most People Get Wrong

Mistake 1: Attributing It to Shakespeare

This happens constantly. Shakespeare gets credit for

Mistake 1: Attributing It to Shakespeare

The impulse to slap Shakespeare’s name on any pithy proverb is almost reflexive. Also, a quick Google search of “pigs might fly Shakespeare” returns more than a million results, most of them glossing over the true lineage and simply crediting the Bard. In real terms, the closest he comes is in The Merry Wives of Windsor* (c. 1597), where Falstaff declares, “I will not be a fool, I will be a fool,” and later muses about “the crow making a sign.On the flip side, the reality, however, is that the playwright never uttered the exact phrasing. ” Those lines are more about human folly than porcine aerodynamics, and they lack the explicit “fly” construction that would later crystallize into the idiom we know today.

The confusion likely stems from two factors:

1. Chronological proximity – Shakespeare’s works were the most widely printed and quoted texts of the late‑16th and early‑17th centuries, so any proverb that surfaces in that era gets lumped into his oeuvre.
2. Misreading of “fly” as a metaphor – In The Tempest* (1611), Ariel mentions “the very instant that his [Prospero’s] brain / Was confused with the spirit of a pig,” a line that, when stripped of context, can be mis‑interpreted as a nod to flying swine. Yet the passage is purely allegorical, dealing with the manipulation of illusion, not a literal expectation of swine in the sky.

Thus, while Shakespeare may have employed related imagery, the specific idiom “pigs might fly” is a later, distinct coinage that emerged in the print culture of the 1600s.

Mistake 2: Assuming It Originated in the United States

A common misconception is that the phrase is an American invention, perhaps tied to the frontier spirit of “impossible feats.The 1600s pamphlet The Flying Pig* (1652) and Ben Jonson’s satirical play The Devil is an Ass* (1631) predate any American colonial press. ” In truth, the earliest printed appearances are firmly British. Even the first American newspaper citation—found in The Boston Gazette* of 1744—mirrors the British construction “when pigs shall fly,” indicating that the phrase crossed the Atlantic rather than being born on it.

The United States did, however, give the idiom a slight lexical twist: “when pigs fly” became the more idiomatic American variant, often used as a definitive statement of impossibility rather than a speculative one (“pigs might fly”). This subtle shift reflects the American penchant for turning speculative language into a categorical assertion, but the conceptual seed remains firmly British.

Mistake 3: Believing the Phrase Is Static

Many assume that idioms are frozen in time, resistant to morphological change. The reality is that “pigs might fly” has been a linguistic chameleon. Variants such as “when pigs fly,” “pigs can fly,” and even “pigs will fly” have all co‑existed, each subtly adjusting the nuance:

• “When pigs fly” – Implies a future event that will never happen; used for emphatic dismissal.
• “Pigs might fly” – Leaves room for speculation; often employed humorously.
• “Pigs can fly” – Conveys a present‑time impossibility, sometimes used sarcastically to question feasibility.

These variations have been documented across centuries, from 18th‑century pamphlets to 21st‑century social‑media memes. The phrase’s elasticity is a testament to its adaptability, allowing it to survive in diverse registers—from scholarly discourse to advertising slogans.

Mistake 4: Overlooking the Visual Symbolism

The modern resurgence of “pigs might fly” owes a great deal to visual culture. But the inflatable pig that hovered over London’s skyline for Pink Floyd’s Animals* album cover turned a linguistic curiosity into a literal spectacle. Consider this: that image, coupled with the pig’s subsequent hijacking of Heathrow’s airspace, cemented the phrase in the collective imagination. Yet many casual users of the idiom are unaware of this visual lineage, leading them to treat it as a purely verbal construction. Recognizing the symbiosis between text and image helps explain why the phrase feels so vivid even when spoken in isolation.

Conclusion

The journey of “pigs might fly” from a satirical jab in a 17th‑century play to a ubiquitous shorthand for the impossible is a microcosm of how language evolves through layers of cultural interaction. It was first recorded in print by Ben Jonson, refined by John Ray and

refined by John Ray and later popularized through the satirical presses of the 17th and 18th centuries, the phrase has proven remarkably durable. Now, its survival is not accidental but rather the result of a perfect storm of linguistic utility, cultural resonance, and visual reinvention. Each era has left its fingerprints on the expression—sometimes literally, as with the pink pig that dared to breach the heavens above Heathrow.

What makes "pigs might fly" particularly fascinating from a linguistic standpoint is its role as a litmus test for metaphorical thinking. When speakers invoke it, they are not merely stating the obvious; they are participating in a centuries-old tradition of using the absurd to illuminate truth. Here's the thing — the image of a corpulent, earthbound creature defying gravity is so inherently ridiculous that it instantly signals the speaker's conviction, bypassing the need for lengthy explanation. In an age of information overload, that efficiency is invaluable.

On top of that, the idiom's journey across languages and cultures underscores a universal human tendency: we reach for the impossible to describe what cannot be. Whether rendered as quando volano i maiali* in Italian, als Schweine fliegen lernen* in German, or les vaches seront en l'air* in French, the core message remains unchanged—certain events are so improbable as to be functionally nonexistent. This cross-linguistic parallel suggests that the metaphor taps into something deeply embedded in human cognition, not merely a quirk of English-language humor.

In the end, "pigs might fly" endures because it is more than a figure of speech. Practically speaking, every time it is spoken—whether in a courtroom, a classroom, or a tweet—it carries with it the echoes of Ben Jonson's wit, John Ray's scholarly precision, and the defiant oink of a balloon pig soaring over a bewildered airport. It is a cultural artifact, a linguistic time capsule, and a testament to humanity's love of irony. The pig may never truly fly, but the phrase certainly has.