Number Fields
The Gaussian integers
showed the power of enlarging the integers with a new number, i. That
same trick works for the rationals, too: take
\mathbb{Q} and adjoin a new number like \sqrt 2
or i, and you get a bigger universe of numbers — closed under addition,
subtraction, multiplication, and division just like \mathbb{Q} itself —
called a number field.
Algebraic number theory makes this systematic: adjoin a root of any
polynomial and study the arithmetic of the resulting world. Once you see it this way, ordinary
integer arithmetic stops looking like the whole story and starts looking like the smallest, simplest
case of something much bigger — the ground floor of a building with many more floors above it.
Algebraic numbers
A number is algebraic if it is a root of a polynomial with rational coefficients.
Familiar examples include \sqrt{2} (root of
x^2 - 2), i (root of
x^2 + 1), and the golden ratio. Numbers that are not algebraic —
like \pi and e — are called
transcendental. Almost all real numbers are transcendental, yet algebraic numbers
are the ones number theory can grasp and reason about precisely.
Worked example. Is 1 + \sqrt2 algebraic? Let
x = 1 + \sqrt2, so x - 1 = \sqrt2. Squaring
both sides gives x^2 - 2x + 1 = 2, i.e.
x^2 - 2x - 1 = 0 — a polynomial with rational (in fact integer)
coefficients that 1+\sqrt2 satisfies exactly. So yes: algebraic, even
though it isn't itself a "nice" square root. This little trick — manipulate the expression until the
irrational parts cancel and a polynomial equation falls out — is the standard way to confirm a new
number belongs to the algebraic world at all.
What a number field is
A number field is what you get by adjoining an algebraic number
\alpha to the rationals — the smallest field containing both
\mathbb{Q} and \alpha, written
\mathbb{Q}(\alpha). The simplest beyond \mathbb{Q}
itself are the quadratic fields:
\mathbb{Q}(\sqrt{2}) = \{\,a + b\sqrt{2} : a, b \in \mathbb{Q}\,\}.
Worked example — closure. "Field" is a strong claim: it says you can add, subtract,
multiply, and divide (by anything nonzero) and never leave the set. Check it on two elements. Take
1 + 2\sqrt2 and 3 - \sqrt2:
(1 + 2\sqrt2) + (3 - \sqrt2) = 4 + \sqrt2,
(1 + 2\sqrt2)(3 - \sqrt2) = 3 - \sqrt2 + 6\sqrt2 - 2(\sqrt2)^2 = 3 + 5\sqrt2 - 4 = -1 + 5\sqrt2.
Both answers are still of the form a + b\sqrt2 with
a, b \in \mathbb{Q} — nothing escaped. That's not a coincidence: because
(\sqrt2)^2 = 2 is rational, every product of two elements of this form
collapses back down to the same form. Division works too (multiply top and bottom by
a - b\sqrt2 to clear the square root from the denominator), which is
exactly what makes \mathbb{Q}(\sqrt2) a genuine field, not just a
ring.
The Gaussian rationals
Adjoining i instead of \sqrt2 gives another
quadratic field, \mathbb{Q}(i) = \{\,a + bi : a, b \in \mathbb{Q}\,\},
sometimes called the Gaussian rationals. It sits directly above the
Gaussian integers
\mathbb{Z}[i]: every Gaussian integer is a Gaussian rational (just take
a, b to be whole numbers), but a Gaussian rational like
\tfrac12 + \tfrac13 i is not a Gaussian integer at all — it has
no whole-number coordinates.
Worked example. Multiply two Gaussian rationals the same way you'd multiply any
complex numbers:
(1+i)(2-i) = 2 - i + 2i - i^2 = 2 + i + 1 = 3 + i.
Here both factors happened to be Gaussian integers, and the product landed back on a
Gaussian integer too — integer-times-integer always stays inside the smaller lattice. But mix in a
fraction, like \left(\tfrac12 + i\right)(2 - i) = 1 - \tfrac12 i + 2i - i^2 = 2 + \tfrac32 i,
and the result only has to land back in the full field \mathbb{Q}(i), not
in the integer lattice — which is exactly the distinction the next section is about.
A field is bigger than its integers
Below, the plane is the complex numbers. Step through: first the tidy lattice of Gaussian
integers — whole-number coordinates only — then a handful of other points that also belong
to the field \mathbb{Q}(i) but land strictly between the lattice points,
because their coordinates are fractions.
The degree of a number field
Both \mathbb{Q}(\sqrt2) and \mathbb{Q}(i) are
finite-dimensional vector spaces over \mathbb{Q} — the idea of a
basis and dimension
from linear algebra, just with \mathbb{Q} playing the role of the
scalars. Every element of \mathbb{Q}(\sqrt2) is built from exactly two
"coordinates" against the basis \{1, \sqrt2\}; every element of
\mathbb{Q}(i) from two coordinates against \{1, i\}.
That count — 2 in both cases — is called the field's degree,
written [\mathbb{Q}(\sqrt2):\mathbb{Q}] = 2.
Worked example — a bigger degree. Adjoin the real cube root of
2 instead: \mathbb{Q}(\sqrt[3]{2}). Now you
need three basis elements to reach every number in the field —
\{1, \sqrt[3]{2}, \sqrt[3]{4}\} — because
\sqrt[3]{2} is a root of the degree-3
polynomial x^3 - 2, and cubing it again just produces
\sqrt[3]{4}, still expressible in that basis, rather than collapsing back
to something rational. So [\mathbb{Q}(\sqrt[3]{2}):\mathbb{Q}] = 3 —
number fields can have any finite degree at all, not just two.
That word finite is doing real work. However exotic the algebraic number you adjoin, the
resulting field never blows up to infinite dimension — it is always some finite-dimensional
\mathbb{Q}-vector space, pinned down by one whole number, its degree. That
finiteness is exactly what makes number fields tame enough to build a whole theory of "integers,"
"primes," and factorisation inside them — an infinite-dimensional mess would offer nowhere near as
much structure to hold onto.
It's easy to blur "number field" and "the integers inside it" together, but they are genuinely
different objects, and the difference matters. The
algebraic integers
of a number field are the well-behaved, integer-like elements sitting inside it — the natural
generalisation of \mathbb{Z} or \mathbb{Z}[i].
The field itself is bigger: it also contains every fraction you can build from those
integers, because a field must be closed under division.
This is not just pedantry. Whether "unique factorisation into primes" still works at all depends on
which of the two objects you're asking about — it's a question about the ring of integers, not
about the field (every field trivially "factors" since everything divides everything else once
fractions are allowed). Mixing the two up is one of the most common early stumbles in algebraic
number theory.
A useful anchor: back in \mathbb{Q} itself, the field is all of
\mathbb{Q}, but its "ring of integers" is the much smaller
\mathbb{Z} sitting inside it. Every number field has exactly this same
two-layer structure — a full field of fractions on the outside, and a smaller, more rigid ring of
integers on the inside — it's just that spotting which elements of a fancier field count as
"integers" takes real work once square roots and other algebraic numbers are involved.
Why generalise this far
Many integer problems become transparent in the right number field. Sums of two squares live
naturally in \mathbb{Q}(i): the identity
5 = 1^2 + 2^2 is really the factorisation
5 = (1+2i)(1-2i) in disguise, and questions about which numbers split as
a sum of two squares become questions about which numbers factor a certain way in this bigger
field.
Pell's equation
lives in \mathbb{Q}(\sqrt d), where its solutions turn out to be the
"units" of a certain ring sitting inside the field;
Fermat's equation
was attacked in fields built from roots of unity. In each case, a hard problem about ordinary whole
numbers turns into a more tractable problem about factoring inside a larger, friendlier number
system — the same move, again and again, at the heart of algebraic number theory.
But to do arithmetic in this larger system — to talk about primes, factorisation, and divisibility,
not just addition and multiplication — we first need the right notion of "integer" inside a number
field: the
algebraic integers,
next.
In the 1840s, the mathematician Ernst Kummer tried to prove Fermat's Last Theorem —
that a^n + b^n = c^n has no positive whole-number solutions for
n > 2 — by factoring a^n + b^n inside the
number field generated by n-th roots of unity, hoping unique
factorisation there would finish the job the way it finishes so many other problems.
It didn't quite work: Kummer discovered that unique factorisation can actually fail in
these fields, and had to invent an entirely new patch — "ideal numbers," the ancestor of the modern
notion of an ideal — to rescue the argument for a large class of exponents. He didn't finish Fermat's
Last Theorem himself (that took Andrew Wiles, working in the 1990s with far more machinery than
Kummer ever had), but he made genuine, lasting progress on it over a century early — and the tools
he invented along the way, to fix a broken proof, ended up mattering more to number theory than the
original theorem he was chasing.