Thoughts On Bridging the “Lacuna Humana”

In my previous post, I discussed the semantic gaps that afflict current programming languages. These gaps are caused by tools focusing on syntax and parsing, and mostly neglecting human factors.[1] I’m not just talking about the fact that languages are clumsy for us to use (more about this later); I’m saying that they ignore our need to talk about important realities of software development: security, coding habits, testability, maintenance plans, dependency management, requirements, intellectual property, and much more.

All this stuff falls within our scope of concern, but none of it is describable in our languages. That’s weird. Imagine we hired a general contractor to build our house, and he was great at swinging hammers and leveling studs. But as soon as we asked him questions about building permits or hiring subs or choosing the right kind of concrete for the foundation, he acted like he didn’t have a clue what we were talking about. We’d be likely to end up with lots of false starts, poorly met requirements, endless kludges, tons of frustration, a heavy QA burden. Hmm… That sounds familiar.

I call this lack of semantic continuity the lacuna humana — the human gap.

The good news is, gaps can often be bridged.

image credit: vestman (Flickr)

I promised I would describe a bridge that has a lot of virtues, and I’m going to begin that work here. It might take us a couple posts to get all the way across, though. Thanks for hanging with me…

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On bread recipes, maps, and intentions

[I’ve been quiet for the past three weeks–not because I have less that I want to talk about, but because I have more. Major wheels turning in my head. I’m having a hard time getting from the “intuited ideas” mode to the “crisp enough to put it in writing” mode, though. Consider this a down payment on some future discussions…]

One of my mother’s talents is bread-making. She’s been kneading and baking and pulling beautiful loaves out of the oven for as long as I can remember. Bread is one of the ways she says “I love you” to family and friends.

A few years back, she created a cookbook full of family recipes, and gave one to each adult child for Christmas. I was struck by how she began the bread section. Instead of launching right into the recipes, she included a couple of pages of “bread theory”, if you will. The section about water is typical:

“Water — Just about any edible liquid could be used as the base for bread. Some that come to mind are vegetable cooking water, potato water, milk, and so on. There is no problem with substituting any of these for liquid called for in a recipe, but you should keep in mind that if the liquid is salty, the salt should be adjusted; if the liquid is sweet, the sugar should be adjusted… Fresh milk can be a problem because of enzymes that would prevent yeast action. For this reason, most old recipes that call for milk specify that the milk be scalded first. This isn’t necessary if you are using water and powdered milk, but remember that the mechanics of the recipe probably depend on at least warm milk (so use warm or even hot water).”

If you’re wondering why I am writing about bread recipes in this blog that focuses on software craftsmanship, consider how much that paragraph resembles a really high-value comment in source code.

It has to do with principles and intentions.

Software is all about recipes, right?

Recipes are a lot like software algorithms (especially in imperative programming styles): First, do this; next, do that; wait 25 minutes; return new Loaf()… We even talk about “recipes” and “cookbooks” when we make catalogs of software techniques.

How is this metaphor instructive… or worrisome?

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