It's pretty sad when you have to choose between the lesser of two

“It’s pretty sad when you have to choose between the lesser of two evils.” — thus spoke Meg White, and in her words we hear not only the sigh of disappointment but the cry of a soul that longs for something purer than compromise. For this lament is not about choice alone, but about the corruption of choice, when all options are poisoned, and one must select not what is good, but what is merely less destructive.

The phrase “lesser of two evils” is ancient, echoing back to the councils of philosophers and rulers who often faced decisions in which no option was just. To name it as sad is to remind us that such choices are not victories of wisdom, but concessions to brokenness. True choice should lead toward the good, toward the just, toward the uplifting of human dignity. But when choices are narrowed to evils alone, the human spirit feels trapped, dishonored, and wounded.

The ancients themselves knew this torment. Consider Odysseus, sailing past Scylla and Charybdis. On one side, the monster devoured men; on the other, the whirlpool swallowed ships whole. He was forced to steer toward one horror, sacrificing some of his men to save the rest. His choice was not noble—it was survival. This is the essence of the lesser evil: not triumph, but endurance, a choice that leaves the soul marked by sorrow even in survival.

The origin of White’s reflection lies in the modern age, where politics, culture, and personal life so often confront us with dilemmas that seem to strip away hope. When leaders, institutions, or even loved ones fail to embody true goodness, we find ourselves cornered, told to accept imperfection that tastes bitter, and to justify our choice by comparison with something worse. This is the sadness she names: the feeling that even in decision, one’s integrity is diminished.

And yet, from this lament rises a deeper call: to seek beyond the given options. For the acceptance of the lesser evil may be necessary in moments, but if it becomes our permanent posture, we lose sight of the greater good. History teaches this well. When societies content themselves with corrupted rulers or unjust laws, saying only, “At least it is not worse,” they drift into deeper bondage. But when voices rise to demand more—not the lesser evil, but the true good—then change becomes possible.

The lesson is clear: do not be satisfied with the lesser evil as though it were enough. In moments of crisis, you may choose survival, but do not cease to hunger for justice. Do not let compromise numb the soul. Instead, allow the sadness of such choices to stir within you a righteous restlessness, a determination to build better paths so that future generations may not stand where you stand.

Practical action follows: examine the choices before you, in politics, in work, in life. If both options are flawed, do what you must, but afterward, labor for alternatives. Speak truth when silence would make you complicit. Encourage leaders, communities, and even families to reach beyond the narrow prison of the lesser evil. And in your own heart, seek integrity: for even if you must choose between two evils, you can still refuse to let your spirit be conquered by despair.

Thus Meg White’s words endure as both lament and summons. It is indeed sad to face choices where goodness is absent. But such moments, though bitter, are not the end. They are reminders that the work of building better worlds is unfinished, and that it falls upon us, the living, to labor so that one day, our children may no longer choose between evils, but between many forms of good.