We must not forget that people also kill people:

The victim, David Sale of Lansdale, was among a group of men attending a bachelor's party at McFadden's pub, which is attached to Citizens Bank Park.

Police said the group got into an altercation with other patrons at the pub at around 7 p.m., as the Phillies game was in late innings. According to police, McFadden's employees ousted the two groups from the bar, and someone notified police.

But the fight continued shortly after in a nearby parking lot, said Police Lt. Frank Vanore.

By the time police reached the scene, Sale was on the ground and unresponsive. He had been hit repeatedly about the head with fists and feet, Vanore said. There are no signs any weapons were used in the attack.

One more point about guns.

In my favorite Sherlock Holmes story, The Sign of the Four (my next being The Hound of the Baskervilles—both being about the primitive erupting onto the surface of the modern), there is a little and sinister savage ("...a soul concealed in an animal"), Tonga. Near the end of the novel, Tonga, during a boat chase on the Thames ("...never did sport give me such a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames"), tries kill his pursuers with darts shot from his blow-pipe ("...he plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips"). What amazes me about this scene is the very idea that the little savage ("...wrapped in some sort of dark ulster or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough to give a man a sleepless night...") walked around London, the center of the world at the time, with this blow-pipe thing concealed upon his person. He walked past cafes and libraries; here, he saw massive buildings; there, he saw all of this commercial activity—and at every moment, his blow-pipe was loaded and ready for use. My eyes see the madness of walking around a great city with a concealed or not concealed blow-pipe as the same as walking around a great city with a gun. Both are ridiculous and embarrassing. What such a person suffers from is a narrative illness. The dead narrative of the hunt and its opposite (defense) have somehow survived the innarrability of urban space. The blow-pipe and the gun have about them the shame of a narrative. They tell not only an old story but a very bad old story. How do we cure people of this type of narrative fever?

We must remember that the long resistance to Darwinism had to do with the fact that it offered no story of creation. The root of Darwinism was about random pressures, internal and external accidents, forces, influences. What is always resisted by humans is the end, the death of a story.

This post owes everything to tipper Michael Drummond.