Ordinary inflation is money losing value at a few percent a year. Hyperinflation is money losing value at that rate in a week, or in a day — a collapse so violent that a currency can shed all its worth in a matter of months. It is the value of money driven toward zero, and as the limiting case it reveals, far more starkly than any moderate inflation, what governs money's worth and how fragile that worth can be. Phillip Cagan made the classic study of the great hyperinflations in 1956, tracing the terrible dynamics by which a currency dies. The next step is to watch the value of money collapse entirely, for in the collapse its foundation is laid bare.
Hyperinflations are not mysterious; they spring, almost always, from a single root. A government faces obligations it cannot meet — a lost war, a shattered economy, crushing reparations, a fiscal crisis — and cannot raise enough through taxes or borrowing, for its revenues have collapsed and no one will lend to it. So it does the one thing a sovereign can always do: it prints money to pay its bills. At first the expedient works, and the freshly printed money buys real goods and services for the state. But to fund a government this way is to print money far faster than the economy grows, and by the quantity theory, prices erupt. The government, finding that its printed money now buys less, prints still more to cover the same real expenses, and the spiral is under way. Hyperinflation is, at its root, a fiscal phenomenon wearing a monetary mask: a state covering its deficit with the printing press because it has no other means left.1
Cagan's central contribution lay in the dynamics — in explaining why hyperinflation accelerates with such terrible speed. As prices rise faster and faster, holding money becomes ruinous: cash in the pocket loses its value by the hour. So people flee from money. They spend it the instant they receive it, converting it at once into goods, into foreign currency, into anything that holds value better than the dying notes. This flight means money changes hands ever faster; its velocity — the speed at which it circulates — soars. And by the equation of exchange, a higher velocity drives prices up just as a larger quantity does, for money spent twice as fast does the work of twice as much money. So the flight from money, itself caused by the inflation, accelerates the inflation, which accelerates the flight — a self-feeding spiral in which prices outrun even the frantic printing of the presses. The currency dies not gradually but in a panic, a stampede for the exits in which the rush to be rid of money is the very thing that destroys it.2
There is a grim logic to the government's trap, which Cagan illuminated. Printing money is a kind of tax — the inflation tax. When the state prints money and spends it, it claims real goods and services; the cost falls on everyone who holds the currency, whose money loses value — a tax levied on cash balances, paid by all who hold them. But here is the snare: as inflation rises, people hold less and less money, fleeing it as fast as they can, so the base on which the inflation tax is levied shrinks. To extract the same real revenue from a shrinking base, the government must inflate faster — but faster inflation shrinks the base further, demanding faster inflation still. The inflation tax, pressed too hard, devours itself: beyond a certain point, printing more money yields less real revenue, not more, as the quantity of currency people are willing to hold collapses toward nothing. The state finds itself on a treadmill that turns ever faster, printing more and gaining less, until the currency is worthless and abandoned altogether.3
Hyperinflation strips the value of money to its foundation, and shows what that foundation is: belief. A banknote is intrinsically worthless — a printed slip of paper; it has value only because people believe it has value and trust that others will accept it in exchange. In ordinary times this belief is so secure as to be invisible; no one giving a coin for bread reflects that the coin is worth something only by collective faith. Hyperinflation is the collapse of that faith. Once people come to expect money to lose value quickly, they act in the way — fleeing it — that makes it lose value quickly, and the expectation fulfills itself. The currency's worth evaporates not because the paper has changed but because the belief in it has. This is the deepest lesson of the catastrophe, and it points straight to the volume's culmination: the value of money is not a physical fact but a shared confidence, and a confidence, however solid it seems, can break. What sustains that confidence — what anchors money's worth when the paper is worth nothing in itself — is the question the volume is building toward.4
Hyperinflations end — and the manner of their ending is as revealing as the manner of their beginning, a point the flagship develops. They do not fade away gradually as the presses slow; they stop almost at a stroke, when the government at last ceases to print — when the fiscal root is finally cut, the budget brought into balance, a new currency issued, a credible commitment made that the printing will end. The moment people come to believe that the regime has truly changed, the flight reverses, velocity falls, and prices stabilize, often within days. That abruptness is itself a clue to the nature of money's value: it is governed not by the past but by expectations of the future, by belief in the regime that stands behind the money. Hyperinflation is the value of money destroyed by a government that cannot live within its means and by the self-feeding flight that destruction unleashes; it is the awesome and terrible face of the power to create money. The next plates turn from the catastrophe to the safeguard — to why the power to create money tempts even disciplined hands, and how it might be contained. The next plate is the temptation.5
Hyperinflation is the value of money taken to zero. Its root is fiscal — a government printing money to pay bills it cannot otherwise fund — and its violence is monetary: as prices erupt, people flee from money, spending it the instant they earn it, so its velocity soars and prices rise faster still, in a self-feeding spiral no printing can outrun. The inflation tax the government seeks devours its own base, forcing ever-faster inflation, until the currency is abandoned. And the catastrophe reveals money's worth for what it is — not a property of the paper but a shared belief, which once broken becomes self-fulfillingly broken, and is restored only when a credible promise that the printing will stop restores the belief. It is the destructive face of the power to create money, and a standing warning of what that power can do. The next plate is the temptation.