The pressure that ionises
Assumes: The electron that leaves because there is room · The product doping cannot move
The electron that leaves because there is room followed Saha’s equation through the stars and the early universe and found hydrogen coming apart at a small fraction of its binding temperature, because a freed electron has the whole gas to be in and a bound one has one atom. Density entered as the thing that took the room away: a denser gas gives its free electrons less room, and at a given temperature it recombines. That essay ended with the case where this stops being true — the interiors of the giant planets, where hydrogen is compressed until its atoms overlap and becomes a metal “without any temperature having ionised it”.
This essay follows Saha’s equation to that end of the density axis. The answer is that the equation, left to itself, predicts recombination for ever, and the reason it is wrong is that it counts only the free electron’s room. The bound electron needs room too. An atom is a certain size, and a gas compressed until the atoms are closer than that size has nowhere to put a bound electron. Somewhere along the way the gas must come apart again, and it does so at a density that depends hardly at all on the temperature.
Ionised at one end by room and at the other by crowding
The drawing puts the two effects on one axis. The dashed curves are Saha’s equation as it was used before: at each temperature the gas is fully ionised when thin and recombines steadily as it is compressed, because the room a free electron gains, measured by the ratio of the quantum concentration to the density, shrinks. The solid curves add one physical fact. A hydrogen atom in a dense gas is surrounded by other charges — protons, electrons, other atoms — and they lower the energy needed to free its electron, because the electron, once free, is already partly bound to the neighbours. The lowering grows as the neighbours crowd in, and the simplest estimate of it, which counts the charge in a sphere of the volume each atom has, removes the ground state entirely when that sphere’s radius has shrunk to three Bohr radii.
With that one addition the curves turn round. At ten thousand kelvin the gas is least ionised — less than half a per cent — at about nuclei per cubic metre, a hundredth of the density of water. Squeezed further it ionises again, and by per cubic metre, a tenth of a gram per cubic centimetre, it is fully ionised at every temperature drawn. The rise at the high-density end does not depend on the temperature: it is where the atom stops existing, and heat has nothing to do with it.
The shape is a U, and the bottom of the U is the most atomic that hydrogen can be at that temperature. At five thousand kelvin the bottom is very deep — a few parts in a million ionised — and at twenty thousand kelvin it is shallow: twelve per cent ionised even at its most atomic. Hot enough, and there is no density at which hydrogen is mostly made of atoms.
Two costs that both shrink
The balance that decides ionisation, as the essay on room framed it, is between an energy cost and an entropy gain: the binding energy against times the logarithm of the room a free electron gains. The drawing plots both against density at ten thousand kelvin. The room’s worth falls steadily as the gas is compressed, and it crosses the binding cost near per cubic metre: thinner than that, room wins and the gas is ionised; denser, binding wins and it is atomic. That is the recombination the dashed curves showed.
The binding cost stays close to 13.6 electronvolts for a long way, then falls steeply as the atoms crowd, and reaches zero at . By then something has happened to the other curve too: the room term has gone negative. The quantum concentration is the number of electrons that can be accommodated per unit volume before their thermal wavelengths overlap, and at these densities there are more electrons than that. Saha’s way of counting room, which treats free electrons as a thin classical gas, has stopped applying. So what ionises the dense gas is not the room winning a contest with the binding. It is the contest disappearing: there is no binding left to pay for, and the electron is free because it has nowhere else to be.
An atom squeezed in a box
There is a second, independent way to see where the bound state must vanish, and it agrees with the first. An atom is the size it is because of a balance: confining the electron more tightly raises its kinetic energy, by the uncertainty principle, while bringing it closer to the proton lowers its potential energy, and the Bohr radius is where the sum is least. Put the atom in a box smaller than its natural size and the balance is forced. The electron’s kinetic energy rises as the box shrinks, the potential energy cannot compensate, and at some box size the total energy of the lowest state reaches zero — the energy of an electron at rest far away. Below that size there is no bound state.
For a hydrogen atom at the centre of a spherical box with impenetrable walls, the calculation can be done exactly, and the ground state becomes unbound when the box’s radius is about 1.8 Bohr radii. A box of that radius per atom corresponds to about atoms per cubic metre, a few times denser than the ion-sphere estimate. The neighbours in a real gas are not impenetrable walls — their electrons and protons pull as well as push — so the true answer lies between these simple limits, which put it between a tenth and half a gram per cubic centimetre — a density hydrogen reaches only under pressures of a million atmospheres or more, because it takes that much to squeeze the lightest element to a fraction of the density of water at planetary temperatures. The pressure is large; the density it produces is modest; and the reason so much pressure buys so little density is the same kinetic energy of confinement that is doing the ionising. Two crude models from opposite directions bracketing a transition is about as well as a sharp estimate can do for a problem that is really about a dense quantum fluid.
Freed electrons that are crowded too
That negative room term is itself a statement about what the freed electrons become. At the density where the bound state vanishes, each cell of room the size of an electron’s thermal wavelength would hold tens of electrons if they were a classical gas. They cannot: they are fermions, and no two can share a state. They fill the available states from the bottom up, into a Fermi sea whose top lies well above the thermal energy, and the gas is degenerate — the regime in which the pressure is not a temperature, because it comes from the stacking of electrons into states rather than from their thermal motion.
Pressure-ionised hydrogen is therefore not what the word “ionised” suggests. It is not a hot plasma of fast, independent particles; it is a lattice-free fluid of protons immersed in a degenerate sea of electrons, conducting electricity as a metal does. Unless its temperature is near a hundred thousand kelvin, the electrons’ thermal energy is a small correction to the energy the exclusion principle gives them. That is why the transition in the giant planets is called metallisation: the hydrogen does not boil into a plasma, it turns into a liquid metal.
One criterion from hydrogen to doped silicon
The same transition happens in a material far easier to study than compressed hydrogen. A phosphorus atom in silicon has one more electron than the silicon it replaces, and that electron is bound to it like the electron in a hydrogen atom — but in an orbit swollen by the silicon’s permittivity, which weakens the attraction, and by the electron’s small effective mass in the crystal. The orbit is about two nanometres across rather than a twentieth of a nanometre. The product doping cannot move treated these donors at modest concentrations, where each holds or releases its electron independently. At high enough concentrations the orbits overlap, and the electrons stop belonging to individual donors.
Nevill Mott argued in 1949 that the transition happens when an electron’s bound orbit is comparable with the distance over which the other electrons screen the donor’s charge — the length that makes a long-range force stop reaching. When screening is strong enough, the potential of each donor can no longer hold a bound state, and the argument gives a criterion with no free parameters beyond the orbit size: the density at the transition, raised to the power one third, times the orbit radius, is about 0.26. Hydrogen, with its orbit of one Bohr radius, turns metallic near atoms per cubic centimetre. Silicon, with its twenty-fold larger donor orbit, turns metallic at a few times donors per cubic centimetre — a few donors per million silicon atoms. Measured transitions in doped silicon, germanium and gallium arsenide, and in several other systems, fall on the same line within a factor of two, over twelve orders of magnitude of density.
This is one of the more striking unifications in physics: the doping level at which a semiconductor wafer stops behaving as a semiconductor and the pressure at which hydrogen in a giant planet becomes a metal are the same criterion applied to orbits of different sizes. The ion-sphere estimate used for the other drawings and Mott’s screening criterion are different arguments that agree within a factor of two on where hydrogen’s transition lies, which is about as well as the physics of the transition is known.
A semiconductor that never freezes out
The doped-semiconductor version of the transition has an everyday consequence. At moderate doping, silicon’s donors hold their electrons at low temperature — freeze-out, the reason ordinary silicon devices stop working near the temperature of liquid helium, which is the Saha balance tipping back towards binding as the Boltzmann factor for the donor’s binding wins. Past the Mott density the donors’ orbits overlap, there is no bound state for the electrons to fall back into, and the silicon conducts at any temperature, however cold. Heavily doped silicon is used for exactly that reason wherever a contact or an interconnect must keep conducting at cryogenic temperatures, and for the electrodes of the superconducting and spin-based devices that are operated a fraction of a degree above absolute zero.
The same arithmetic also sets a limit on large atoms in a gas. An atom in a highly excited state is enormous — a micrometre across at principal quantum number a hundred — and a gas at quite modest density crowds it just as a planetary interior crowds a ground-state atom. Such states are destroyed by their neighbours at densities where the ground state is untouched, which is why the series of spectral lines from the highest levels stops earlier in a denser gas: the atom’s infinite series of bound states is cut off from the top.
Where hydrogen is an atom
Put together, the two effects divide the plane of density and temperature into three regions. To the left of the first line, hydrogen is ionised because a free electron has room to spare; to the right of the second, because an atom has no room at all. Between them, and below about a hundred thousand kelvin, hydrogen is made of atoms — or, at lower temperatures, of molecules. The atomic region is a band, bounded on both sides, and it closes at the top where the heat alone is enough to ionise at any density.
Almost every place where hydrogen is observed as atoms lies inside that band. The Sun’s visible surface sits in it near the thermal line, which is why the Sun’s spectrum has hydrogen lines at all, and why their strength counts room as well as energy. The cool gas between the stars sits far to the left, thin enough that ultraviolet starlight keeps it ionised in some regions and cold enough in others to be atomic. The interiors of Jupiter and Saturn lie beyond the crowding line: below a depth of about a fifth of Jupiter’s radius, hydrogen is a liquid metal, and the planet’s strong magnetic field is generated by currents flowing in it.
Where the estimate stops
A crude lowering. The ion-sphere lowering is the high-density limit of a family of estimates of how neighbours reduce a binding energy, and its prediction of a sharp density at which the ground state vanishes is an artefact of treating the neighbours as a smooth sphere of charge. In reality the transition is smeared, the atom’s ground state is squeezed and distorted gradually, and hydrogen at these densities is not a gas of separate atoms at all but a dense fluid whose properties must be computed from quantum mechanics directly.
Molecules. Below a few thousand kelvin hydrogen is molecular, and the transition is from a molecular fluid to a metallic one, which involves breaking the molecules as well as freeing electrons. Whether that happens in one step or two, and whether it is a sharp phase transition with a latent heat at low temperatures or a smooth crossover at high ones, is what experiments and calculations disagree about.
Saha’s counting. Near the transition the free electrons are degenerate, as the third drawing shows, and Saha’s equation with its classical room is no longer the right description of them. The curves near the high-density end are illustrations of a mechanism, not predictions of a fraction.
What the curves do not show
The curves show equilibrium fractions, and in the laboratory metallic hydrogen has been made only fleetingly, in shock waves that compress it for nanoseconds, or claimed in diamond anvils at pressures of hundreds of gigapascals whose interpretation has been disputed. The curves also say nothing about the solid. At low temperatures and very high pressures hydrogen is predicted to become a solid metal, perhaps a superconductor at high temperature, perhaps metastable when the pressure is released; none of this is in a gas-phase equilibrium, and none of it has been confirmed.
Still open: the transition inside the planets
Where exactly hydrogen metallises in Jupiter and Saturn, whether the transition is sharp or gradual, and how it depends on temperature matter for the planets directly: they decide where the dynamo that makes the magnetic field operates, how heat moves out of the interior, and whether helium, which does not mix well with metallic hydrogen, separates and rains downward. Measurements from the Juno spacecraft of Jupiter’s gravity field suggest that its core is not compact but diluted through a large part of the planet, which has changed the models the transition sits in. Shock experiments disagree with each other by factors of two in the pressure of the transition, and first-principles calculations disagree about the order of the transition. How much room hydrogen needs to remain an atom, it turns out, is not known to better than a factor of two in density.
The habit worth carrying away is to check whether every participant in an equilibrium has the room the equilibrium assumes. Saha’s equation counts the room a freed electron gains and forgets the room a bound one needs, and a gas compressed until the bound state no longer fits ionises whatever its temperature — so heat and pressure are two different ways of ionising matter, one by giving the electron somewhere to go and the other by taking away the place it was.
Part 7 of 7
This essay is one argument about Chemical potential. The others:
The objects named here
The third axis, after the field and the reading path: the things themselves, and every essay that touches each one.
Chemical potentialDegenerate matterIonisationMetallic hydrogenMott transitionPressure ionisationSaha equationScreening
- The half-life that chemistry can change ionisation, screening
- The swelling a membrane cannot stop chemical potential, screening