“And when they came north off Dumbshaf a man came over from the shore and entered service with them on the trip. He was named Rauðgrani. One-eyed was he. He had a blue-flecked, cowled cloak studded down to the middle of his legs. Jóstein the priest wasn't keen on him, for Rauðgrani spoke of heathendom and old lore with Gestr’s men, and said it best to worship by sacrifice for one's good luck. And one day when Rauðgrani was urging them to heathenism, the priest, all wrathful, suddenly grasped a crucifix and placed it on the head of Rauðgrani. He plunged overboard, but never came up afterwards. They realized then that he had been Óðinn. Gestr only regarded the priest coolly.”
~Bárðar saga Snæfellsáss

It’s interesting how several Sagas about the big bad king who converted everyone don’t outright deny the existence of the Gods.

Painting by Carl Emil Doepler, 1889. ᚬ

What is interesting, with this in mind, is the Hitlerian goal to fuse oneself with one’s own blood: to become one with the soul of the Folk while maintaining individuality. Once you pass away on this plane, you return to the blood you spawned from. Your memories, struggles, and goals are passed down to the next generation, where the most spiritual of our kin can directly commune with the ancestors of old.

The evils of foreign faiths lie in the fact that you are consumed by a separate deity. You no longer return to the fold upon death; instead, you are lost in the maw of entropic daemons, consumed by perverted "gods" of alien bloodlines. Stay true to your Folk, and you will live forever as one with the guide, the seer, the divine family.

I usually don't talk about contemporary politics on here, but man this sounds very familiar to what's happening today. Fat pope, skinny pope I guess.