Author: IMC

Yesterday I received a disheartening 44/50 on a homework assignment. Okay okay, I know. 88% isn’t bad, but I had turned in my solutions with so much confidence that admittedly, my heart dropped a little (okay, a lot!) when I received the grade. But I quickly had to remind myself, Hey! Grades don’t matter.

The six points were deducted from two problems. (Okay, fine. It was three. But in the third I simply made an air-brained mistake.) In the first, apparently my answer wasn’t explicit enough. How stingy! I thought. Doesn’t our professor know that this is a standard example from the book? I could solve it in my sleep! But after the prof went over his solution in class, I realized that in all my smugness I never actually understood the nuances of the problem. Oops. You bet I’ll be reviewing his solution again. Lesson learned.

In the second, I had written down my solution in the days before and had checked with a classmate and (yes) the internet to see if I was correct. Unfortunately, the odds were against me two-to-one as both sources agreed with each other but not with me. But I just couldn’t see how I could possibly be wrong! Confident that my errors were truths, I submitted my solution anyway, hoping there would be no consequences. But alas, points were taken off.

Honestly though, is a lower grade such a bad thing? I think not. In both cases, I learned exactly where my understanding of the material went awry. And that’s great! It means that my comprehension of the math is clearer now than it was before (and that the chances of passing my third qualifying exam have just increased. Woo!) And that’s precisely why I’m (still, heh…) in school.

So yes, contrary to what the comic above says, grades do exist in grad school, but – and this is what I think the comic is hinting at – they don’t matter. Your thesis committee members aren’t going to say, “Look, your defense was great, but we can’t grant you your PhD. Remember that one homework/midterm/final grade from three years ago?” (They may not use the word “great” either, but that’s another matter.) Of course, we students should still work hard and put in maximum effort! But the emphasis should not be on how well we perform, but rather how much we learn. Focus on the latter and the former will take care of itself. This is true in both graduate school and college, but the lack of emphasis on grades in grad school really brings it home. And personally, I’m very grateful for it because my brain is freed up to focus on other things like, I don’t know, learning math!

So to all my future imperfect homework scores out there: bring it on.

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*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

In sum, the sufficient condition (a.k.a. the “if” direction) allows you to get what you want. That is, if you assume the sufficient condition, you’ll obtain your desired conclusion. It’s enough. It’s sufficient.

On the other hand, the necessary condition (a.k.a. the “only if” direction) is the one you must assume in order to get what you want. In other words, if you don’t have the necessary condition then you can’t reach your desired conclusion. It is necessary.

Here’s a little graphic which summarizes this:

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*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

Here’s one thing to impress your friends with the next time you order a takeaway: new and exotic ways to slice a pizza.

Most of us divide a pizza using straight cuts that all meet in the middle. But what if the centre of the pizza has a topping that some people would rather avoid, while others desperately want crust for dipping?

Mathematicians had previously come up with a recipe for slicing – formally known as a monohedral disc tiling – that gives you 12 identically shaped pieces, six of which form a star extending out from the centre, while the other six divide up the crusty remainder. You start by cutting curved three-sided slices across the pizza, then dividing these slices in two to get the inside and outside groups, as shown below.

Now Joel Haddley and Stephen Worsley of the University of Liverpool, UK, have generalised the technique to create even more ways to slice. The pair have proved you can create similar tilings from curved pieces with any odd number of sides – known as 5-gons, 7-gons and so on (shaded below) – then dividing them in two as before. “Mathematically there is no limit whatsoever,” says Haddley, though you might find it impractical to carry out the scheme beyond 9-gon pieces.

Haddley and Worsley went one further by cutting wedges in the corners of their shapes, creating bizarre, spikey pieces that still form a circle (the image below shows this happening with 5-gons). “It’s really surprising,” says Haddley.

As with many mathematical results, its usefulness isn’t immediately obvious. The same is true of another pizza theorem, which looks at what happens when a pizza is haphazardly cut off-centre.

“I’ve no idea whether there are any applications at all to our work outside of pizza-cutting,” says Haddley, who has actually tried slicing a pizza in this way for real (see below). But the results are “interesting mathematically, and you can produce some nice pictures”.

For more such insights, log into www.international-maths-challenge.com.

*Credit for article given to Jacob Aron*

A maths problem previously tackled with the help of a computer, which produced a proof the size of Wikipedia, has now been cut down to size by a human. Although it is unlikely to have practical applications, the result highlights the differences between two modern approaches to mathematics: crowdsourcing and computers.

Terence Tao of the University of California, Los Angeles, has published a proof of the Erdős discrepancy problem, a puzzle about the properties of an infinite, random sequence of +1s and -1s. In the 1930s, Hungarian mathematician Paul Erdős wondered whether such a sequence would always contain patterns and structure within the randomness.

One way to measure this is by calculating a value known as the discrepancy. This involves adding up all the +1s and -1s within every possible sub-sequence. You might think the pluses and minuses would cancel out to make zero, but Erdős said that as your sub-sequences got longer, this sum would have to go up, revealing an unavoidable structure. In fact, he said the discrepancy would be infinite, meaning you would have to add forever, so mathematicians started by looking at smaller cases in the hopes of finding clues to attack the problem in a different way.

Last year, Alexei Lisitsa and Boris Konev of the University of Liverpool, UK used a computer to prove that the discrepancy will always be larger than two. The resulting proof was a 13 gigabyte file – around the size of the entire text of Wikipedia – that no human could ever hope to check.

Helping hands

Tao has used more traditional mathematics to prove that Erdős was right, and the discrepancy is infinite no matter the sequence you choose. He did it by combining recent results in number theory with some earlier, crowdsourced work.

In 2010, a group of mathematicians, including Tao, decided to work on the problem as the fifth Polymath project, an initiative that allows professionals and amateurs alike to contribute ideas through SaiBlogs and wikis as part of mathematical super-brain. They made some progress, but ultimately had to give up.

“We had figured out an interesting reduction of the Erdős discrepancy problem to a seemingly simpler problem involving a special type of sequence called a completely multiplicative function,” says Tao.

Then, in January this year, a new development in the study of these functions made Tao look again at the Erdős discrepancy problem, after a commenter on his SaiBlog pointed out a possible link to the Polymath project and another problem called the Elliot conjecture.

Not just conjecture

“At first I thought the similarity was only superficial, but after thinking about it more carefully, and revisiting some of the previous partial results from Polymath5, I realised there was a link: if one could prove the Elliott conjecture completely, then one could also resolve the Erdős discrepancy problem,” says Tao.

“I have always felt that that project, despite not solving the problem, was a distinct success,” writes University of Cambridge mathematician Tim Gowers, who started the Polymath project and hopes that others will be encouraged to participate in future. “We now know that Polymath5 has accelerated the solution of a famous open problem.”

Lisitsa praises Tao for doing what his algorithm couldn’t. “It is a typical example of high-class human mathematics,” he says. But mathematicians are increasingly turning to machines for help, a trend that seems likely to continue. “Computers are not needed for this problem to be solved, but I believe they may be useful in other problems,” Lisitsa says.

For more such insights, log into www.international-maths-challenge.com.

*Credit for article given to Jacob Aron*

Felker prefaces the quote by saying,

Giving up on math means you don’t believe that careful study can change the way you think.

He further notes that writing, like math, “is also not something that anyone is ‘good’ at without a lot of practice, but it would be completely unacceptable to think that your composition skills could not improve.”

Friends, this is so true! Being ‘good’ at math boils down to hard work and perseverance, not whether or not you have the ‘math gene.’ “But,” you might protest, “I’m so much slower than my classmates are!” or “My educational background isn’t as solid as other students’!” or “I got a late start in mathematics!”* That’s okay! A strong work ethic and a love and enthusiasm for learning math can shore up all deficiencies you might think you have. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not claiming it’ll be a walk in the park. To be honest, some days it feels like a walk through an unfamiliar alley at nighttime during a thunderstorm with no umbrella. But, you see, that’s okay too. It may take some time and the road may be occasionally bumpy, but it can be done!

This brings me to another point that Felker makes: If you enjoy math but find it to be a struggle, do not be discouraged! The field of math is HUGE and its subfields come in many different flavors. So for instance, if you want to be a math major but find your calculus classes to be a challenge, do not give up! This is not an indication that you’ll do poorly in more advanced math courses. In fact, upper level math classes have a completely (I repeat, completely!) different flavor than calculus. Likewise, in graduate school you may struggle with one course, say algebraic topology, but find another, such as logic, to be a breeze. Case in point: I loathed real analysis as an undergraduate** and always thought it was pretty masochistic. But real analysis in graduate school was nothing like undergraduate real analysis (which was more like advanced calculus), and now – dare I say it? – I sort of enjoy the subject. (Gasp!)

All this to say that although Felker’s article is aimed at folks who may be afraid to take college-level math, I think it applies to math majors and graduate students too. I highly recommend you read it if you ever need a good ‘pick-me-up.’ And on those days when you feel like the math struggle is harder than usual, just remember:

Even the most accomplished mathematicians had to learn HOW to learn this stuff!

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*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

Example 5

A sequence of functions {fn:R→R}{fn:R→R} which converges to 0 pointwise but does not converge to 0 in L1L1.

This works because: The sequence tends to 0 pointwise since for a fixed x∈Rx∈R, you can always find N∈NN∈N so that fn(x)=0fn(x)=0 for all nn bigger than NN. (Just choose N>xN>x!)

The details: Let x∈Rx∈R and fix ϵ>0ϵ>0 and choose N∈NN∈N so that N>xN>x. Then whenever n>Nn>N, we have |fn(x)−0|=0<ϵ|fn(x)−0|=0<ϵ.

Of course, fn↛0fn↛0 in L1L1 since∫R|fn|=∫(n,n+1)fn=1⋅λ((n,n+1))=1.

For more such insights, log into www.international-maths-challenge.com.

*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

Suffixes are important!

Did you know that the words

“maximal” and “maximum” generally do NOT mean the same thing

in mathematics? It wasn’t until I had to think about Zorn’s Lemma in the context of maximal ideals that I actually thought about this, but more on that in a moment. Let’s start by comparing the definitions:

Do you see the difference? An element is a maximum if it is larger than every single element in the set, whereas an element is maximal if it is not smaller than any other element in the set (where “smaller” is determined by the partial order ≤≤). Yes, it’s true that the* maximum also satisfies this property, i.e. every maximum element is also maximal. But the converse is not true: if an element is maximal, it may not be the maximum! Why? The key is that these definitions are made on a partially ordered set. Basically, partially ordered just means it makes sense to use the words “bigger” or “smaller” – we have a way to compare elements. In a totally ordered set ALL elements are comparable with each other. But in a partially ordered set SOME, but not necessarily all, elements can be compared. This means it’s possible to have an element that is maximal yet fails to be the maximum because it cannot be compared with some elements. It’s not too hard to see that when a set is totally ordered, “maximal = maximum.”**

How about an example? Here’s one I like from this scholarly site which also gives an example of a miminal/minimum element (whose definitions are dual to those above).

Example

Consider the set

where the partial order is set inclusion, ⊆⊆. Then

• {d,o}{d,o} is minimalbecause {d,o}⊉x{d,o}⊉x for every x∈Xx∈
• e. there isn’t a single element in XX that is “smaller” than {d,o}{d,o}
• {g,o,a,d}{g,o,a,d} is maximalbecause {g,o,a,d}⊈x{g,o,a,d}⊈x for every x∈Xx∈X
• e. there isn’t a single element in XX that is “larger” than {g,o,a,d}{g,o,a,d}
• {o,a,f}{o,a,f} is both minimal and maximal because
• {o,a,f}⊉x{o,a,f}⊉x for every x∈Xx∈X
• {o,a,f}⊈x{o,a,f}⊈x for every x∈Xx∈X
• {d,o,g}{d,o,g} is neither minimal nor maximal because
• there is an x∈Xx∈X such that x⊆{d,o,g}x⊆{d,o,g}, namely x={d,o}x={d,o}
• there is an x∈Xx∈X such that {d,o,g}⊆x{d,o,g}⊆x, namely x={g,o,a,d}x={g,o,a,d}
• XX has NEITHER a maximum or a minimum because
• there is no M∈XM∈X such that x⊆Mx⊆M for everyx∈Xx∈X
• there is no m∈Xm∈X such that m⊆xm⊆x for everyx∈Xx∈X

Let’s now relate our discussion above to ring theory. One defines an ideal MM in a ring RR to be a maximal ideal if M≠RM≠R and the only ideal that contains MM is either MM or RR itself, i.e. if I⊴RI⊴R is an  ideal such that M⊆I⊆RM⊆I⊆R, then we must have either I=MI=M or I=RI=R.

Not surprisingly, this coincides with the definition of maximality above. We simply let XX be the set of all proper ideals in the ring RR endowed with the partial order of inclusion ⊆⊆. The only difference is that in this context, because we’re in a ring, we have the second option I=RI=R.

I think a good way to see maximal ideals in action is in the proof of this result:

As a final remark, the notions of “a maximal element” and “an upper bound” come together in Zorn’s Lemma which is needed to prove that every proper ideal in a ring is contained in a maximal ideal. I should mention that an upper bound BB on a partially ordered set (a.k.a. a “poset”) has the same definition as the maximum EXCEPT that BB is not required to be inside the set. More precisely, we define an upper bound on a subset YY of XX to be an element B∈XB∈X such that y≤By≤B for every y∈Yy∈Y.

So here’s the deal with Zorn’s Lemma: It’s not too hard to prove that every finite poset has a maximal element. But what if we don’t know if the given poset is finite? Or what happens if it’s infinite? How can we tell if it has a maximal element? Zorn’s Lemma answers that question:

‍As I mentioned above, it’s this result which is needed to prove that every proper ideal is contained in a maximal ideal***. It actually implies a weaker statement, called Krull’s Theorem (1929), which says that every non-zero ring with unity contains a maximal ideal.

‍Footnotes

*One can easily show that if a set has a maximum it must be unique, hence THE maximum.

** Here’s the proof: Let (X,≤)(X,≤) be a totally ordered set and let m∈Xm∈X be a maximal element. It suffices to show mm is the maximum. Since XX has a total order, either m≤xm≤x or x≤mx≤m for every x∈Xx∈X. If the latter, then mm is the maximum. If the former, then m=xm=x by definition of maximal. In either case, we have x≤mx≤m for all x∈Xx∈X. Hence mm is the maximum.

*** Note this is NOT the same as saying that every maximal ideal contains all the proper ideals in a ring! Remember, maximal ≠≠ maximum!!

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*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

This post is the fourth example in an ongoing list of various sequences of functions which converge to different things in different ways.

Also in this series:

Example 1: converges almost everywhere but not in L1L1
Example 2: converges uniformly but not in L1L1
Example 3: converges in L1L1 but not uniformly
Example 5: converges pointwise but not in L1L1
Example 6: converges in L1L1 but does not converge anywhere

Example 4

A sequence of (Lebesgue) integrable functions fn:R→[0,∞)fn:R→[0,∞) so that {fn}{fn} converges to f:R→[0,∞)f:R→[0,∞) uniformly,  yet ff is not (Lebesgue) integrable.

‍Our first observation is that “ff is not (Lebesgue) integrable” can mean one of two things: either ff is not measurable or ∫f=∞∫f=∞. The latter tends to be easier to think about, so we’ll do just that. Now what function do you know of such that when you “sum it up” you get infinity? How about something that behaves like the divergent geometric series? Say, its continuous cousin f(x)=1xf(x)=1x? That should work since we know∫R1x=∫∞11x=∞.∫R1x=∫1∞1x=∞.Now we need to construct a sequence of integrable functions {fn}{fn} whose uniform limit is 1x1x. Let’s think simple: think of drawring the graph of f(x)f(x) one “integral piece” at a time. In other words, define:

This works because: It makes sense to define the fnfn as  f(x)=1xf(x)=1x “chunk by chunk” since this way the convergence is guaranteed to be uniform. Why? Because how far out we need to go in the sequence so that the difference f(x)−fn(x)f(x)−fn(x) is less than ϵϵ only depends on how small (or large) ϵϵ is. The location of xx doesn’t matter!

Also notice we have to define fn(x)=0fn(x)=0 for all x<1x<1 to avoid the trouble spot ln(0)ln⁡(0) in the integral ∫fn∫fn. This also ensures that the area under each fnfn is finite, guaranteeing integrability.

The details: Each fnfn is integrable since for a fixed nn,∫Rfn=∫n11x=ln(n).∫Rfn=∫1n1x=ln⁡(n).To see fn→ffn→f uniformly, let ϵ>0ϵ>0 and choose NN so that N>1/ϵN>1/ϵ. Let x∈Rx∈R. If x≤1x≤1, any nn will do, so suppose x>1x>1 and let n>Nn>N. If 1<x≤n1<x≤n, then we have |fn(x)−f(x)|=0<ϵ|fn(x)−f(x)|=0<ϵ. And if x>nx>n, then∣∣1xχ[1,∞)(x)−1xχ[1,n](x)∣∣=∣∣1x−0∣∣=1x<1n<1N<ϵ.|1xχ[1,∞)(x)−1xχ[1,n](x)|=|1x−0|=1x<1n<1N<ϵ.

‍For more such insights, log into www.international-maths-challenge.com.

*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*

What do iPhones, Twitter, Netflix, cleaner cities, safer cars, state-of-the-art environmental management and modern medical diagnostics have in common? They are all made possible by Moore’s Law.

Moore’s Law stems from a seminal 1965 article by Intel founder Gordon Moore. He wrote:

“The complexity for minimum component costs has increased at a rate of roughly a factor of two per year … Certainly over the short term this rate can be expected to continue, if not to increase. Over the longer term, the rate of increase is a bit more uncertain, although there is no reason to believe it will not remain nearly constant for at least ten years. That means, by 1975, the number of components per integrated circuit for minimum cost will be 65,000.”

Moore noted that in 1965 engineering advances were enabling a doubling in semiconductor density every 12 months, but this rate was later modified to roughly 18 months. Informally, we may think of this as doubling computer performance.

In any event, Moore’s Law has now continued unabated for 45 years, defying several confident predictions it would soon come to a halt, and represents a sustained exponential rate of progress that is without peer in the history of human technology. Here is a graph of Moore’s Law, shown with the transistor count of various computer processors:

Where we’re at with Moore’s Law

At the present time, researchers are struggling to keep Moore’s Law on track. Processor clock rates have stalled, as chip designers have struggled to control energy costs and heat dissipation, but the industry’s response has been straightforward — simply increase the number of processor “cores” on a single chip, together with associated cache memory, so that aggregate performance continues to track or exceed Moore’s Law projections.

The capacity of leading-edge DRAM main memory chips continues to advance apace with Moore’s Law. The current state of the art in computer memory devices is a 3D design, which will be jointly produced by IBM and Micron Technology, according to a December 2011 announcement by IBM representatives.

As things stand, the best bet for the future of Moore’s Law are nanotubes — submicroscopic tubes of carbon atoms that have remarkable properties.

According to a recent New York Times article, Stanford researchers have created prototype electronic devices by first growing billions of carbon nanotubes on a quartz surface, then coating them with an extremely fine layer of gold atoms. They then used a piece of tape (literally!) to pick the gold atoms up and transfer them to a silicon wafer. The researchers believe that commercial devices could be made with these components as early as 2017.

Moore’s Law in science and maths

So what does this mean for researchers in science and mathematics?

Plenty, as it turns out. A scientific laboratory typically uses hundreds of high-precision devices that rely crucially on electronic designs, and with each step of Moore’s Law, these devices become ever cheaper and more powerful. One prominent case is DNA sequencers. When scientists first completed sequencing a human genome in 2001, at a cost of several hundred million US dollars, observers were jubilant at the advances in equipment that had made this possible.

Now, only ten years later, researchers expect to reduce this cost to only US$1,000 within two years and genome sequencing may well become a standard part of medical practice. This astounding improvement is even faster than Moore’s Law!

Applied mathematicians have benefited from Moore’s Law in the form of scientific supercomputers, which typically employ hundreds of thousands of state-of-the-art components. These systems are used for tasks such as climate modelling, product design and biological structure calculations.

Today, the world’s most powerful system is a Japanese supercomputer that recently ran the industry-standard Linpack benchmark test at more than ten “petaflops,” or, in other words, 10 quadrillion floating-point operations per second.

Below is a graph of the Linpack performance of the world’s leading-edge systems over the time period 1993-2011, courtesy of the website Top 500. Note that over this 18-year period, the performance of the world’s number one system has advanced more than five orders of magnitude. The current number one system is more powerful than the sum of the world’s top 500 supercomputers just four years ago.

Linpack performance over time.

Pure mathematicians have been a relative latecomer to the world of high-performance computing. The present authors well remember the era, just a decade or two ago, when the prevailing opinion in the community was that “real mathematicians don’t compute.”

But thanks to a new generation of mathematical software tools, not to mention the ingenuity of thousands of young, computer-savvy mathematicians worldwide, remarkable progress has been achieved in this arena as well (see our 2011 AMS Notices article on exploratory experimentation in mathematics).

In 1963 Daniel Shanks, who had calculated pi to 100,000 digits, declared that computing one billion digits would be “forever impossible.” Yet this level was reached in 1989. In 1989, famous British physicist Roger Penrose, in the first edition of his best-selling book The Emperor’s New Mind, declared that humankind would likely never know whether a string of ten consecutive sevens occurs in the decimal expansion of pi. Yet this was found just eight years later, in 1997.

Computers are certainly being used for more than just computing and analysing digits of pi. In 2003, the American mathematician Thomas Hales completed a computer-based proof of Kepler’s conjecture, namely the long-hypothesised fact that the simple way the grocer stacks oranges is in fact the optimal packing for equal-diameter spheres. Many other examples could be cited.

Future prospects

So what does the future hold? Assuming that Moore’s Law continues unabated at approximately the same rate as the present, and that obstacles in areas such as power management and system software can be overcome, we will see, by the year 2021, large-scale supercomputers that are 1,000 times more powerful and capacious than today’s state-of-the-art systems — “exaflops” computers (see NAS Report). Applied mathematicians eagerly await these systems for calculations, such as advanced climate models, that cannot be done on today’s systems.

Pure mathematicians will use these systems as well to intuit patterns, compute integrals, search the space of mathematical identities, and solve intricate symbolic equations. If, as one of us discussed in a recent Conversation article, such facilities can be combined with machine intelligence, such as a variation of the hardware and software that enabled an IBM system to defeat the top human contestants in the North American TV game show Jeopardy! we may see a qualitative advance in mathematical discovery and even theory formation.

It is not a big leap to imagine that within the next ten years tailored and massively more powerful versions of Siri (Apple’s new iPhone assistant) will be an integral part of mathematics, not to mention medicine, law and just about every other part of human life.

Some observers, such as those in the Singularity movement, are even more expansive, predicting a time just a few decades hence when technology will advance so fast that at the present time we cannot possibly conceive or predict the outcome.

Your present authors do not subscribe to such optimistic projections, but even if more conservative predictions are realised, it is clear that the digital future looks very bright indeed. We will likely look back at the present day with the same technological disdain with which we currently view the 1960s.

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Credit of the article given to Jonathan Borwein (Jon), University of Newcastle and David H. Bailey, University of California, Davis

When you hear the word closure, what do you think of? I think of wholeness – you know, tying loose ends, wrapping things up, filling in the missing parts. This same idea is behind the mathematician’s notion of closure, as in the phrase “taking the closure” of a set. Intuitively this just means adding in any missing pieces so that the result is complete, whole. For instance, the circle on the left is open because it’s missing its boundary. But when we take its closure and include the boundary, we say the circle is closed.

As another example, consider the set of all real numbers strictly between 0 and 1, i.e. the open interval (0,1). Notice that we can get arbitrarily close to 0, but we can’t quite reach it. In some sense, we feel that 0 might as well be included in set, right? I mean, come on, 0.0000000000000000000000000000000000000001 is basically 0, right? So by not considering 0 as an element in our set, we feel like something’s missing. The same goes for 1.

We say an element is a limit point of a given set if that element is “close” to the set,* and we say the set’s closure is the set together with its limit points. (So 0 and 1 are both limit points of (0,1) and its closure is [0,1].) It turns out the word closure is also used in algebra, specifically the algebraic closure of a field, but there it has a completely different definition which has to do with roots of polynomials, called algebraic elements. Now why would mathematicians use the same word to describe two seemingly different things? The purpose of today’s post is to make the observation that they’re not so different after all! This may be somewhat obvious, but it wasn’t until after a recent conversation with a friend that I saw the connection:

‍algebraic elements of a field

are like

limit points of a sequence!

‍(Note: I’m not claiming any theorems here, this is just a student’s simple observation.)

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*Credit for article given to Tai-Danae Bradley*