He wasn't Dionysus. He didn't inspire rapture and epiphany. If anybody was the Liberator, it was Cobb. Although thinking on it, Cobb was another player in this theatrical. He was the beloved Theseus, brave and cunning.
The red string of fate wrapped around them all on the Fischer job. Theseus was led out of the labyrinth built out of his own guilt with the help of Ariadne.
Cobb had found his place, finally with his children, not an old man filled with regret, he could finally rest.
What of the rest of them?
Ariadne had no one at her side, across the world in Paris, filled with dreams of bending skyscrapers and cities like carousels. Reality was not enough for her anymore.
Eames, after shaking off the wild ride that had been their last job with a bottle of whiskey, had set off to wherever the wind blew in search of another job. He didn't need dreams within dreams to make reality bearable.
Yusuf did what he did best, went back to the clutter of serums in a dusty shop and a basement filled with dreamers that couldn't wake up on their own. They taught him what reality meant. He didn't need a slap across the face or a dangerous drive into the ocean to tell him he belonged here rather than in a dreamscape.
Saito had honored his part of the deal, after his part in the job as a "tourist" he realized how he had taken reality for granted. Just because you don't really die in a dream didn't mean his life couldn't flash in front of his eyes.
And him? Arthur, the Point man?
He wasn't Dionysus. He was just an ordinary man, observing the world. He didn't inspire, he didn't create, he just lived with details filling his mind.