I take it to be about the Enlightenment. The myth of the Argus is here joined together with the later proverbs that negatively comment on his many-eyed nature, ascribing an all-watchful, invasive quality to the giant. The Argus is the antagonist here, representing all the predatory old-world empires whose iconography his image comes from, the narrator's society bearing the burden of appeasing his paranoia and obsessiveness, the disease he searches the land for, the mountains and oceans he swats at. All they get in return is the empty, practiced compassion of a monarch ostensibly shielding his peasants from harm with walls and warning bells, leading his trusting children down the ruinous path of war, colonization, and slavery, their participation shedding their souls without their even noticing, transfixed by the Argus' warnings as they are, drinking from the empty eyes of the dark face which says it saved them.
But the god-eye--the dice of fate, if you like--did not grant the Argus forgiveness. His death unfolds just as it does in his story, sleeping in a field, his many eyes finally closed, as if it was inevitable. The music shifts from ominous to joyful because the Argus is a relic of the old world, a parasite upon the people, and it is only without him that a future is possible. As the messenger of the gods takes his life, in his final moments the Argus admits to his nature, ironically enough, in attempting to diagnose man's. The Argus only ever thrived in fear, only lived to stir up fear and manipulate it, and with how watchful his eyes are described to be, in all likelihood he feared for himself always, feared being undone at the hands of the gods should he cease his vigilance even for a moment, which of course he is. It is this choice of fear over love which leads to the Argus' death, and even as he dies he cannot renounce it, just as history cannot be made to renounce itself. But the Argus is wrong. Mankind will carry on without him, for fortune smiled upon them, and the sacrifice of the Argus has helped them to see. Yesterday, we lost our lives. Tomorrow, we were born.
I take it to be about the Enlightenment. The myth of the Argus is here joined together with the later proverbs that negatively comment on his many-eyed nature, ascribing an all-watchful, invasive quality to the giant. The Argus is the antagonist here, representing all the predatory old-world empires whose iconography his image comes from, the narrator's society bearing the burden of appeasing his paranoia and obsessiveness, the disease he searches the land for, the mountains and oceans he swats at. All they get in return is the empty, practiced compassion of a monarch ostensibly shielding his peasants from harm with walls and warning bells, leading his trusting children down the ruinous path of war, colonization, and slavery, their participation shedding their souls without their even noticing, transfixed by the Argus' warnings as they are, drinking from the empty eyes of the dark face which says it saved them.
But the god-eye--the dice of fate, if you like--did not grant the Argus forgiveness. His death unfolds just as it does in his story, sleeping in a field, his many eyes finally closed, as if it was inevitable. The music shifts from ominous to joyful because the Argus is a relic of the old world, a parasite upon the people, and it is only without him that a future is possible. As the messenger of the gods takes his life, in his final moments the Argus admits to his nature, ironically enough, in attempting to diagnose man's. The Argus only ever thrived in fear, only lived to stir up fear and manipulate it, and with how watchful his eyes are described to be, in all likelihood he feared for himself always, feared being undone at the hands of the gods should he cease his vigilance even for a moment, which of course he is. It is this choice of fear over love which leads to the Argus' death, and even as he dies he cannot renounce it, just as history cannot be made to renounce itself. But the Argus is wrong. Mankind will carry on without him, for fortune smiled upon them, and the sacrifice of the Argus has helped them to see. Yesterday, we lost our lives. Tomorrow, we were born.