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Lady Fair. A somewhat different view of Tillich's libido appears in another book to be published this month, Paulus (Harper & Row; $5.95). Written by his former student, Rollo May, it suggests that Tillich's pursuit of women was more sensual than sexual. To May, Tillich was in the medieval mold, a throwback to the age of chivalry, an incurable romantic who could scarcely write a book—even his best theology —without at least inwardly dedicating it to some lady fair. He was Teutonically serious about sex; the erotic pretensions of classic pornography attracted him, but he abhorred dirty jokes.
May argues that Tillich was a man whose "intensity of presence" reached out to all who met him, men or women.
For women, it contained an almost irresistible element of sexual libido. May suggests that the theological groupies around Tillich seemed satisfied merely to share it vicariously or in brief encounters, knowing full well that others would catch his eye and attention, too.
May describes in detail how Tillich took May's fiancee out walking one afternoon and wove a Tolkien-like fantasy in which she and Paulus became lovers. He cajoled her into pronouncing the ending: "We would lie together." It was only "psychological" seduction, says May, who seems oddly proud of it, as if his fiancee had been honored by "the old custom of the deflowering of the new bride by the lord of the estate."
Eventually, the compulsive fires had to burn down. In their last years together, Hannah reports, "it was harvest time for Paulus and me. I felt compassion for Paulus, I could enjoy him again... (We) indulged in a new, secret marriage pact."
When Paul Tillich died at 79 after a heart attack, Hannah was with him, holding his hand.