The multiplier explains how a shock, once delivered, is amplified into a swing; it does not say where the shock comes from. One answer — the oldest, and after the crisis of 2008 the most vivid — is that the shock comes from within, from the workings of the financial system itself. Hyman Minsky argued that the cycle is not something imposed on an otherwise stable economy by disturbances from outside, but something the economy generates out of its own financial dynamics: that the boom builds, within itself, the fragility that produces the bust, so that the seed of every slump is planted at the height of the prosperity that precedes it. Stability, in his startling phrase, is destabilizing. The calm of good times is not a resting state but a slow accumulation of the conditions for collapse.
Minsky's financial instability hypothesis traces a descent through three postures of finance, into which a booming economy successively slides. In the first, which he called hedge finance, a borrower's income comfortably covers both the interest and the principal of his debts; he can pay his way from his own earnings, and his position is sound whatever happens. In the second, speculative finance, income covers the interest but not the principal, so the debt cannot be paid off, only rolled over — refinanced again and again — and the borrower is sound only so long as credit remains available to roll it. In the third, which he named Ponzi finance after the famous swindle, income covers neither interest nor principal; the borrower can survive only by borrowing still more, or by selling into a rising market assets whose prices must keep climbing to bail him out. As good times wear on, the economy migrates steadily from the first posture toward the second and the third — from safety toward fragility — as success emboldens borrowers to take on more debt and lenders to extend it.1
What drives the migration is the very tranquility of the good times — which is why stability is destabilizing. A long stretch without crisis teaches everyone the wrong lesson. Borrowers, lenders, and regulators alike observe that the dangers they once feared have not come to pass; the memory of the last bust fades; the cautious, who lend and borrow conservatively, are outcompeted and outperformed by the bold, who lever up and earn higher returns in the calm. Year by year, the prudent norms erode: a little more debt is taken on, a little more leverage is judged safe, a little more of the structure comes to rest on the assumption that asset prices will keep rising. The financial system grows steadily more fragile precisely because nothing has gone wrong — each peaceful year emboldening a fraction more risk than the last, until the whole edifice is a tower of leverage balanced on the belief that the good times will continue. The absence of crisis is not the opposite of crisis; it is the incubator of the next one. Tranquility breeds the confidence that breeds the recklessness that breeds the crash.2
The fragile structure needs only a small disturbance to bring it down. A borrower somewhere cannot roll over his loan; an asset price slips; a lender, suddenly uneasy, calls in credit or refuses to refinance. The Ponzi borrowers, who lived only on rising prices and fresh lending, are the first to fail, and their forced sales push asset prices down — which undermines the speculative borrowers, whose collateral is now worth less than their debts; the unease spreads, lenders everywhere pull back, and a scramble for cash sets in, a rush to sell assets and pay down debt that drives prices into a downward spiral. The optimism of the boom reverses, all at once, into the panic of the bust; and the same leverage that had magnified the gains on the way up now magnifies the losses on the way down. The moment when the structure tips — when the realization spreads that the debts cannot be honored and the rush to the exits begins — has come to be called a Minsky moment: the instant the long-building fragility finds its trigger and the tower comes down.3
In Minsky's account, the cycle of the real economy — the boom in output and employment and the slump that follows — is driven by this financial cycle running beneath it. The credit boom funds the investment and the spending of the good years, amplified outward by the multiplier; the credit bust starves them, and the contraction multiplies into the slump. The cycle is thus inseparable from finance: an economy with a large and sophisticated financial system is inherently prone to it, and the more leveraged that system grows, the more violent the cycle it can unleash. This poses a cruel bind for policy. To rescue the financial system in the bust — the central bank acting as lender of last resort, the public bailout of failing institutions — does arrest the collapse and limit the damage to the real economy. But by sparing the reckless the consequences of their recklessness, the rescue teaches that risk is rewarded and ruin is socialized, and so plants the confidence and the daring that will inflate the next boom's excess. To stabilize is, in part, to set up the next instability. The cycle, on this view, cannot be abolished, only managed; and the managing of it is one of the things that feeds it.4
Minsky's hypothesis spent decades at the margins of the profession, which preferred models of an economy disturbed only from outside; then the financial crisis of 2008 followed his script almost line for line, and it moved to the center. There had been a long calm, the Great Moderation, that bred exactly the complacency he described; a vast build-up of debt and leverage resting on the assumption of ever-rising house prices; a migration of the system into speculative and then frankly Ponzi positions; and finally a Minsky moment, when prices turned and the entire structure unwound, dragging the real economy into the deepest slump since the 1930s. The financial cycle is one source of the shocks that the multiplier magnifies into the swings of the whole economy. But it is not the only account of how a slump begins — and the next plate offers a rival explanation of that same catastrophe of the 1930s, locating its cause not in the manias of private finance but in money itself, and in the failure of the institution charged with managing it. The next plate is the contraction.5
Minsky's insight is that the cycle is endogenous — bred by the financial system's own dynamics, not imposed from without. In good times confidence rises and debt accumulates, and finance migrates from the safety of hedge positions through speculative ones into fragile Ponzi positions, until the whole structure depends on the boom's continuing. Stability is destabilizing: each year of calm emboldens a little more risk, until a small shock topples the tower and the boom reverses into a panic, the leverage that magnified the gains now magnifying the losses. The credit cycle drives the real cycle, so that an economy with a great financial system is inherently unstable — and the rescues that arrest each bust sow the excess of the next. The crisis of 2008 was his vindication. But the manias of finance are only one account of how the slump arrives; the next plate locates the cause elsewhere, in the quantity of money. The next plate is the contraction.