I never intended to attend the Hermetica sub-department at the University of Amsterdam. In fact, until I was bullied into applying, I didn't know what it was. I had never heard of Wouter Hanegraaff, even though he had come to my alma mater, Reed College, on a speaking tour to drum up interest in Western esotericism. “Westotericism,” as we called it, was a big draw. My colleagues were psyched.

I skipped it. Wouter had come over 5000 miles to Portland, Oregon from across the pond, but I chose to go to a talk across campus given by a speaker from across the river, Lewis and Clark College. He lectured on Plato, and while the rest of my department hung on the honeyed words of a Dutchman pioneering a new approach in religious studies, I could think of nothing but the Greeks. Plato was my first love, and I had eyes (and ears) for no one else.

The Plato talk was actually not very good. Still, I had remained faithful to my broad-shouldered sweetheart, and put the evening out of my mind. Time went by, and I eventually came into a cadre of other Platonophiles, the so-called “Neoplatonists.” When my senior year rolled around I had to write a thesis, and through an unlikely turn of events that I have no space to relate here, I wound up studying the ritual divinization (or “theurgy”) of the 5th-century Neoplatonist, Proclus Diadochus.

After finishing my BA, I wanted to keep reading Platonists, but I had no intention of continuing in the Academy. Why would I want to get involved in departmental politics? What can you do with a master's in religious studies? Where could I study theurgy, anyways? Graduate school just didn't interest me.

In December 2002 my professors asked me to consider giving it a shot after all. I thought I had the perfect evasion: all the application deadlines had passed. “Not in Europe,” they retorted. “Who in Europe cares about theurgy?” I shot back. “Wouter Hanegraaff!”

So, in August 2003, in Amsterdam I arrived. I didn't know much about esotericism or Giordano Bruno.