David Hume

A stout, rosy-cheeked old man lies propped up in bed, greeting his visitor with a gentle smile. It is the summer of 1776 in Edinburgh, and David Hume knows he is dying. Yet there is no fear in his clear grey eyes—only mild amusement at the anxious expression on young James Boswell’s face. Boswell has come to see whether the great skeptic is frightened to meet his Maker at last. But Hume, ever composed, chuckles softly. He spins an imaginary tale for Boswell: perhaps, he says, he might bargain with Charon, the ferryman of Hades, to grant him a few more years of life.

Selenius Media & The Artificial Laboratory