This is not to say that, statistically, the Aryan is not closer to the ‘idea of the perfect man’ than the man of the other races, even the noble ones, just as within the Aryan race itself the Nordic is statistically closest to the same ‘idea’, in the Platonic sense of the word. Warrior courage is perhaps one of the virtues most equally prevalent in both the purebred (or nearly purebred) Aryan and the non-Aryan.
But there are traits which, while not exclusive to the Aryan or more particularly to the Nordic, are undoubtedly more common in the latter than elsewhere. I will mention three of them: physical beauty, which counts as soon as one speaks of a visible being; the fact that he can be relied upon, that he doesn’t promise what he cannot give, that he doesn’t lie (or lies less than most nationals of other races) and finally, the fact that he has more respect than they generally have for the animal and the tree, and more kindness than they have towards all living beings.
And this last trait seems to me essential. I cannot, indeed, consider as superior any race—any human community, however outwardly beautiful and gifted it may be—if too large a percentage of the individuals composing it despise and treat ‘like things’ the beautiful living beings who, by nature, cannot take a stand for or against any cause, and whom, therefore, it is impossible to hate.
The superior man—the candidate for superhumanity—can not be the torturer or even the shameless exploiter of living nature. He will be the admirer—I would even say, the adorer; the one who, to use the words of Alfred Rosenberg, ‘sees the Divine in all that lives: in the animal; in the plant’. He can be—indeed, he must be—merciless towards man, the enemy of this natural Order, with which he has identified himself, and whose beauty he is enamoured of.
But far from inflicting pain on an innocent creature, or allowing others to inflict it directly or indirectly, if he can prevent it he will, whatever is in his hands, ensure that every beast he meets lives happily; that every tree that grows in his path escapes, too, from the innate barbarity of the inferior man, ready to sacrifice everything for his own benefit, his own comfort, or for the benefit and comfort of his own, even of ‘humanity’.
Any overestimation of oneself is a sign of stupidity. All anthropocentrism is an overestimation of the collective ‘self’ of the two-legged mammal, all the more blatant as this self doesn’t exist; they are only collective selves each corresponding to more or less extensive and more or less homogeneous human groups. Hence it follows that all anthropocentrism is a sign of double stupidity, and generally of collective stupidity.
What are we reproached with when we say that we ‘deny man’? We are reproached for rejecting anthropocentrism. We are reproached for placing the notion of the elite—living aristocracy, human or non-human—above the notion of any man, and for sacrificing not only the sick to the healthy, the weak to the strong, the deficient to the normal individual or above normal, but also the mass to the elite. We are reproached for taking the elite of our Aryan race as the end, and the mass (all human masses, including those in our Aryan countries) as the means. And when I say ‘mass’ I do not mean people, but average and below-average humanity, not so much as to what its representatives know, but as to what they are: as to their character and their possibilities. Our Führer came from ‘the people’, but did not belong to ‘the mass’.
We are reproached for our disgust with the failed creature who has irrevocably turned his back on the ideal archetype of his race, our horror of the morbid, the quirky, the decadent, of everything that deviates without return from the crystalline simplicity of elementary form, absolute sincerity and deep logic. We are reproached for our militant nostalgia for the time when the visible order of the world faithfully reflected the eternal order, the divine order; for our fight for the reestablishment, at whatever cost, the reign of eternal values—our fight against the tide of Time.
 Quoted by Maurice Bardèche in Nuremberg ou les faux-monnayeurs, first edition, p. 88.