There was no break or two waves. Only one, still inconceivable. Even today, we don’t really know more about the virus and the pandemic than we did in the beginning. Either what behind this is, who manages it, what the ultimate goals and consequences are. Even deaths are unreliable. Pre-election posters on the lampposts were abruptly replaced by obituaries. The highest number of victims is among those who believed the most in the announced May victory. Victories are still coming, but we look more and more as if we are being eaten inside by some unknown tapeworm. We desperately need therapy with meaning and light. That is why we have a new issue of National Review in front of us.