As the quincentenary of Luther's Ninety-Five Theses approaches, we await a spate of new Luther biographies. Heinz Schilling, the distinguished historian of religious politics and confessionalisation in the Holy Roman Empire, has been quick off the mark. His study, first published in 2012, is intended both for specialists and the educated general reader. That, in part, accounts for its length: Schilling devotes a substantial opening chapter (‘Christendom breaking asunder’) to scene-setting, which underscores how remote both Luther and his Saxon environment were from developments elsewhere in Europe; he modifies the conventional account by observing that the supposed new Atlantic commercial axis was in fact an Atlantic-Baltic-Muscovite axis. Its length is also explained by the author's laudable decision to include substantial quotations from Luther's own writings: these lend vivacity and veracity to the narrative. In comparison with other recent biographies (notably Volker Leppin's of 2006), Schilling gives relatively little space to Luther's family background, early career, and theological development. One surprising result is that Schilling takes at face value the topoi of Luther's ‘conversion experience’ in the thunderstorm at Stotternheim and his hurling of an inkwell at the devil while seated on the privy. That is counterbalanced by his detailed account of the scholarly circles in which Luther moved: his career in Wittenberg was a collective enterprise. Yet it cannot be denied that the discussion of Luther's path to a theology of sola fide remains perfunctory and conventional: Schilling is not, after all, a trained theologian. Here the contrast with both Leppin and Berndt Hamm, especially the latter's uncovering of the late medieval roots of Luther's theological awakening, his debt to the German mystics, is most apparent. Instead, Schilling stresses the personal influences, above all Luther's own Augustinian vicar-general Stauptiz.

Given Schilling's expertise, the central chapters dealing with the ecclesiastical-political situation in the empire from the Diet of Worms onwards are the most impressive. Unlike Leppin, Schilling does not relegate Luther's impact and influence after 1525, evident not only in the unending stream of printed works (theological tracts, biblical translations, consolations, homilies, catechisms and hymns), not to mention his voluminous correspondence, but also in Luther's punishing schedule of sermons delivered throughout Saxony, which contributed to his deteriorating health. That he was able to bear the extraordinary burden of work is attributable not least to the emotional and practical support of his wife, Katharina von Bora: the chapter on family life and daily routine in Wittenberg is a jewel. Although it contains much dry material, Schilling's account of Luther's relations with the electoral Saxon princes is invaluable; in passing, he underscores that Luther was never a lackey of the princes, though he cannot deny Luther's (and Melanchthon's) handwringing at Philipp of Hesse's bigamy. By contrast, the discussion of the radicals on Luther's own doorstep, Karlstadt and Müntzer, is cursory and unenlightening: not a topic which seems to interest Schilling. Their common late-medieval mystical roots are ignored, and the peasants who rose in rebellion in the Peasants' War were guilty of ‘misunderstanding’ his message. This is too easy a judgement. After 1525 peasants disappear altogether from the narrative; at most, they remain the objects, not the subjects, of evangelism.

Schilling gives a sane and balanced account of Luther's attitude towards the arch-enemies of Christendom, the Turks, the Jews, and the papacy. He is certainly correct to exculpate Luther from any charge of racial anti-Semitism, however unpalatable his argument may be to some modern sensibilities. At the same time, Schilling evinces some unease at Luther's vituperative and scatological language – which on occasion could be directed at his closest associates, such as Melanchthon. The problem is all the greater since Schilling is concerned to portray the young Luther as hesitant and timid: how then was he transmogrified into a choleric monster? Schilling does not squarely address the issue, though wisely he eschews a pseudo-medical explanation. Like rather too many commentators on Luther, Schilling pays culpably little attention to the Reformer's social and economic thought. He is, of course, correct to stress that Luther's views constituted an applied ethics grounded in the principle of Christian fellowship and good neighbourliness, but they went much further than a simple denunciation of usury and the manifestations of early capitalism. Had Schilling examined Luther's family background in more detail, especially his knowledge of the mining industry and the investment risks involved, he might have noted that Luther's views on money, profit and commerce were by no means conventional: they went well beyond the stock image of a rural agricultural arcadia. This stance should have been pursued in the context of a remark that Schilling makes at the outset, namely that the economic situation in the mining regions of Saxony may not have conformed to the general upswing of the economy of northern Europe.

Schilling is at his best on the old Luther: his chapter on Luther's death is a fine and moving piece of writing. In his epilogue Schilling reins himself in from the temptation to portray Luther as an ‘apostle of modernity’; at best he was the grandfather, not the father, of our modern pluralist and secularised world. The accolade of a true breakthrough to modernity belongs rather to the Calvinists (on whom Schilling has written extensively). His biography is fluently and attractively written, with little recourse to technical terms. It is much more comprehensive than Leppin's (which all but stops in 1525); it sketches the political context of Luther's career in much greater detail than Heiko Oberman's Luther (outstanding, sometimes wilful, but now in any case over thirty years old); and is more balanced than Richard Marius' Martin Luther of 1999, which regards Luther's Reformation as a ghastly mistake. It cannot, and is not intended to, supplant Martin Brecht's magisterial three-volume biography, but for a general readership it offers an exemplary account, which is unlikely to be surpassed in the near future.