Pindar was of a noble family, of the house of the Aigeidai, and it is probable that his kinsmen, or some of them, may have taken the side of oligarchy in the often recurring dissensions at Thebes, but of this we know nothing certain.  He himself seems to have taken no part in politics.  When he speaks on the subject in his odes it is not with the voice of a partisan.  An ochlocracy is hateful to him, but if he shows himself an ‘aristocrat’ it is in the literal and etymological meaning of the word.  Doubtless if Pindar had been asked where the best servants of the state in public life were most likely to be found he would have answered that it would be among those ancient families in whose veins ran the blood of gods and demigods, who had spent blood and money for the city’s honour, championing her in war or in the mimic strife of the games, who had honourable traditions to be guided by and an honourable name to lose or save.  These things were seldom undervalued by Hellenic feeling:  even in Athens, after it was already the headquarters of the democratic principle, the noble and wealthy families obtained, not probably without wisdom of their own in loyally accepting a democratic position, as fair a place and prospects as anywhere in Hellas.  But that, when the noble nature, the [Greek:  aretae], which traditions of nobility ought to have secured, was lacking, then wealth and birth were still entitled to power, this was a doctrine repugnant utterly to Pindar’s mind:  nor would his indignation slumber when he saw the rich and highborn, however gifted, forgetting at any time that their power was a trust for the community and using it for their own selfish profit.  An ‘aristocrat’ after Pindar’s mind would assuredly have a far keener eye to his duties than to his rights, would consider indeed that in his larger share of duties lay his infinitely most precious right.

But he ‘loved that beauty should go beautifully;’ personal excellence of some kind was in his eyes essential; but on this he would fain shed outward radiance and majesty.  His imagination rejoiced in splendour—­splendour of stately palace—­halls where the columns were of marble and the entablature of wrought gold, splendour of temples of gods where the sculptor’s waxing art had brought the very deities to dwell with man, splendour of the white-pillared cities that glittered across the Aegean and Sicilian seas, splendour of the holy Panhellenic games, of whirlwind chariots and the fiery grace of thoroughbreds, of the naked shapely limbs of the athlete man and boy.  On this characteristic of Pindar it is needless to dwell, for there are not many odes of those remaining which do not impress it on our minds.