Nazi Party

The Nazi Party, referred to by Clamence as "our Hitlerian brethren," is the historical political force whose systematic genocide in Amsterdam—the deportation and assassination of seventy-five thousand Jews—provides the moral and geographical backdrop for Clamence's self-imposed exile and his philosophical monologue. The party's methods of "vacuum-cleaning" and its capacity for organized atrocity serve as a constant, unspoken reference point for Clamence's reflections on guilt, judgment, and the human capacity for evil.

The Crime and Its Location

Clamence lives in the former Jewish Quarter of Amsterdam, a site he describes as "the site of one of the greatest crimes in history." He notes with a mixture of admiration and horror the "diligence" and "methodical patience" of the Nazi operation that resulted in seventy-five thousand Jews deported or assassinated, calling it "real vacuum-cleaning." This historical crime is not merely a distant fact for Clamence; it is the very ground he walks on, shaping his perception of the city and its inhabitants. The "ape" who runs the Mexico City bar, with his distrustful disposition, becomes more understandable to Clamence in light of this history, as Clamence himself struggles against his natural inclination toward fraternizing, now sounding an internal alarm at every new face: "Slow! Danger!"

The Method and Its Implications

Clamence's analysis of the Nazi method extends beyond mere description to a philosophical critique of modernity. He observes that "when one has no character one has to apply a method," suggesting that the bureaucratic, systematic nature of the genocide was a substitute for individual moral conviction. This idea resonates with his broader critique of contemporary society, which he compares to piranhas that "clean up" the unwary swimmer, leaving only an immaculate skeleton. The Nazi "cleanup" becomes the ultimate, literal example of this societal tendency toward liquidation. Clamence's own profession as a lawyer, which he describes as placing him "above the judge whom I judged in turn," is implicitly contrasted with the Nazi's methodical application of power without judgment.

The Pure Heart and the Militia

Clamence illustrates the danger of naive trust in the face of such organized evil with a parable. He knew a "pure heart who rejected distrust," a pacifist and libertarian who loved all humanity and animals equally. During the last wars of religion in Europe, this man retired to the country and wrote on his threshold: "Wherever you come from, come in and be welcome." The militia, the armed enforcers of the regime, answered that noble invitation, made themselves at home, and disemboweled him. This story serves as a brutal counterpoint to any ideal of universal brotherhood, demonstrating that the Nazi Party's violence was not an abstract concept but a concrete, murderous force that exploited and destroyed innocence.

The Dog and the German Soldier

Clamence's own encounter with the Nazi regime's reach is personal and revealing. During the war, on a subway platform at the Châtelet station, a stray dog—which Clamence, a lover of dogs because "they always forgive," had called to himself—enthusiastically followed a young German soldier instead. Clamence's reaction of "resentment and the sort of rage" against the soldier made him realize, for the first time, that he was patriotic. This seemingly trivial incident forced him to confront his own capacity for nationalistic feeling and his desire to dominate, a desire he later recognizes as a "sweet dream of oppression" that aligns him, in spirit, with the very forces he might oppose. The dog's choice, and Clamence's response to it, reveals the arbitrary and emotional nature of allegiance.

The Legacy of Judgment

The Nazi Party's legacy, for Clamence, is not just a historical event but a paradigm for the modern condition of universal judgment. He reflects on the little Frenchman at Buchenwald who insisted on registering a complaint, declaring "I am innocent!"—a futile gesture that Clamence sees as emblematic of everyman's desperate claim to innocence. The Nazi camps, with their spitting-cells and little-ease dungeons, are presented as the ultimate, horrifying inventions of humanity, proving that "God is not needed to create guilt or to punish." The party's crimes, in Clamence's view, have inaugurated an era where everyone is a judge and everyone is guilty, a world where the Last Judgment takes place every day. This is the world that Clamence, as a judge-penitent, has learned to navigate and exploit, using his own confession to gain the right to judge others.