Bertrand Meyer's technology+ blog

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A void call, during the execution of an object-oriented program, is a call of the standard OO form

x·some_routine (…)                                                /CALL/

where x, a reference, happens to be void (null) instead of denoting, as expected, an object. The operation is not possible; it leads to an exception and, usually, a crash of the program. Void calls are also called “null pointer dereferencing”.

One of the major advances in Eiffel over the past years has been the introduction of attached types, entirely removing the risk of void calls. The language mechanisms, extending the type system, make void-call avoidance a static property, part of type checking: just as the compiler will prevent you from assigning a boolean value to an integer variable, so will it flag your program if it sees a risk of void call. Put the other way around, if your program passes compilation, you have the guarantee that its executions will never produce a void call. Attached types thus remove one of the major headaches of programming, what Tony Hoare [1] called his “one-billion-dollar mistake”:

I call it my billion-dollar mistake. It was the invention of the null reference in 1965. At that time, I was designing the first comprehensive type system for references in an object oriented language (ALGOL W) [2]. My goal was to ensure that all use of references should be absolutely safe, with checking performed automatically by the compiler. But I couldn’t resist the temptation to put in a null reference, simply because it was so easy to implement. This has led to innumerable errors, vulnerabilities, and system crashes, which have probably caused a billion dollars of pain and damage in the last forty year

Thanks to attached types, Eiffel programmers can sleep at night: their programs will not encounter void calls.

To benefit from this advance, you must declare variables accordingly, as either attached (never void after initialization) or detachable (possibly void). You must also write the program properly:

• If you declare x attached, you must ensure in the rest of the program that before its first use x will have been attached to an object, for example through a creation instruction create x.
• If you declare x detachable, you must make sure that any call of the above form /CALL/ happens in a context where x is guaranteed to be non-void; for example, you could protect it by a test if x /= Void then… or, better, an “object test”.

Code satisfying these properties is called void-safe.

Void safety is the way to go: who wants to worry about programs, even after they have been thoroughly tested and have seemingly worked for a while, crashing at unpredictable times? The absence of null-pointer-dereferencing can be a statically  enforced property, as the experience of Eiffel now demonstrates; and that what it should be. One day, children will think void-safely from the most tender age, and their great-grandparents will tell them, around the fireplace during long and scary winter nights, about the old days when not everyone was programming in Eiffel and even those who did were worried about the sudden null-pointer-derefencing syndrome. To get void safety through ordinary x: PERSON declarations, you had (children, hold your breath) to turn on a compiler option!

The transition to void safety was neither fast nor easy; in fact, it has taken almost ten years. Not everyone was convinced from the beginning, and we have had to improve and simplify the mechanism along the way to make void-safe programming practical. Compatibility has been a key issue throughout: older classes are generally not void-safe, but in a language that has been around for many years and has a large code base of operational software it is essential to ensure a smooth transition. Void safety has, from its introduction, been controlled by a compiler option:

• With the option off, old code will compile as it used to do, but you do not get any guarantee of void safety. At execution time, a void call can still cause your program to go berserk.
• With the option on, you get the guarantee: no void calls. To achieve this goal, you have to make sure the classes obey the void safety rules; if they do not, the compiler will reject them until you fix the problem.

In the effort to reconcile the compatibility imperative with the inexorable evolution to void safety, the key decisions have affected default values for compiler options and language conventions. Three separate decisions, in fact. Two of the defaults have already been switched; the question asked at the end of this article addresses the switching of the last remaining one.

The first default governed the void-safety compiler option. On its introduction, void-safety was off by default; the mechanism had to be turned on explicitly, part of the “experimental” option that most EiffelStudio releases offer for new, tentative mechanisms. That particular decision changed a year ago, with version 7.3 (May 2013): now void safety is the default. To include non-void-safe code you must mark  it explicitly.

The second default affects a language convention: the meaning of a standard declaration. A typical declaration, such as

x: PERSON                                                                                      /A/

says that at run time x denotes a reference which, if not void, will be attached to an object of type PERSON.  In pre-void-safety Eiffel, as in today’s other typed OO languages,  the reference could occasionally become void at run time; in other words, x was detachable. With the introduction of void safety, you could emphasize this property by specifying it explicitly:

x: detachable PERSON                                                             /B/

You could also specify that x would never be void by declaring it attached, asking the compiler to guarantee this property for you (through its application of the void-safety rules to all operations involving x). The explicit form in this case is

x: attached PERSON                                                               /C/

In practical programming, of course, you do not want to specify attached or detachable all the time: you want to use the simple form /A/ as often as possible. Originally, since we were starting from a non-void-safe language, compatibility required /A/ to mean /B/ by default. But it turns out that “attached” really is the dominant case: most references should remain attached at all times and Void values should be reserved for important but highly specialized cases such as terminating linked data structures. So the simple form should, in the final state of the language, mean /C/. That particular default was indeed switched early (version 7.0, November 2011) for people using the void-safety compiler option. As a result, the attached keyword is no longer necessary for declarations such as the above, although it remains available. Everything is attached by default; when you want a reference that could be void (and are prepared to bear the responsibility for convincing the compiler that it won’t when you actually use it in a call), you declare it as detachable; that keyword remains necessary.

There remains one last step in the march to all-aboard-for-void-safety: removing the “detachable by default” option, that is to say, the compiler option that will make /A/ mean /B/ (rather than /C/). It is only an option, and not the default; but still it remains available. Do we truly need it? The argument for removing it  is that it simplifies the specification (the fewer options the better) and encourages everyone, even more than before, to move to the new world. The argument against is to avoid disturbing existing projects, including their compiler control files (ECFs).

The question looms: when do we switch the defaults? Some of us think the time is now; specifically, the November release (14.11) [4].

Do you think the option should go? We would like your opinion. Please participate in the Eiffelroom poll [5].

References and note

[1] C.A.R. Hoare: Null References: The Billion Dollar Mistake , abstract of talk at QCon London, 9-12 March 2009, available here.

[2] (BM note) As a consolation, before Algol W, LISP already had NIL, which is the null pointer.

[3] Bertrand Meyer, Alexander Kogtenkov and Emmanuel Stapf: Avoid a Void: The Eradication of Null Dereferencing, in Reflections on the Work of C.A.R. Hoare, eds. C. B. Jones, A.W. Roscoe and K.R. Wood, Springer-Verlag, 2010, pages 189-211, available here.

[4] EiffelStudio version numbering changed in 2014: from a classic major_number.minor_number to a plain year.month, with two principal releases, 5 and 11 (May and November).

[5] Poll on switching the attachment defaults: at the bottom of the Eiffelroom page here (direct access here).

(Adapted from an article previously published on the CACM blog.)

Often, you will be told that programming languages do not matter much. What actually matters more is not clear; maybe tools, maybe methodology, maybe process. It is a pretty general rule that people arguing that language does not matter are defending bad languages.

Let us consider the Apple bug of a few weeks ago. Only a few weeks; the world has already moved to Heartbleed (to be discussed in a subsequent article), but that is not a reason to sweep away the memory of the Apple bug and the language design that it reflects.

In late February, users of  iPhones, iPads and iPods were enjoined to upgrade their devices immediately because  “an attacker with a privileged network position may capture or modify data in sessions protected by SSL/TLS.” The bug was traced [1] to code of the following form:

if (error_of_first_kind)
goto fail;
if (error_of_second_kind)
goto fail;
if (error_of_third_kind)
goto fail;
if (error_of_fourth_kind)
goto fail;
if (error_of_fifth_kind)
goto fail;
goto fail;
if (error_of_sixth_kind)
goto fail;
The_truly_important_code_handling_non_erroneous_case

In other words: just a duplicated line! (The extra line is highlighted above.) But the excess “goto” is beyond the scope of the preceding “if“, so it is executed unconditionally: all executions go directly to the “fail” label, so that The_truly_important_code_handling_non_erroneous_case never gets executed.

Critics have focused their ire on the  goto instruction, but it is of little relevance. What matters, language-wise, is the C/C++-Java-C# convention of delimiting the scope of conditional instructions, loops and other kinds of composite structures. Every component of such structures in these languages is syntactically a single instruction, so that:

• If you want the branch to consist of an atomic instruction, you write that instruction by itself, as in: if (c) a = b;
• If you want a sequence of instructions, you write it as a compound, enclosed by the ever so beautiful braces: if (c) {a = b; x = y;}

Although elegant in principle (after all, it comes from Algol), this convention is disastrous from a software engineering perspective because software engineering means understanding that programs change. One day, a branch of a conditional or loop has one atomic instruction; sometime later, a maintainer realizes that the corresponding case requires more sophisticated treatment, and adds an instruction, but fails to add the braces.

The proper language solution is to do away with the notion of compound instruction as a separate concept, but simply expect all branches of composite instructions to consist of a sequence, which could consist of several instructions, just one, or none at all. In Eiffel, you will write

if  c then
   x := y
end

or

 if  c then
   a := b
   x := y
else
   u := v
end

or

from i := 1 until c loop
   a := b
   i := i + 1
end

or

across my_list as l loop
   l.add (x)
end

and so on. This syntax also gets rid of all the noise that pollutes programs in languages retaining C’s nineteen-sixties conventions: parentheses around the conditions, semicolons for instructions on different lines; these small distractions accumulate into serious impediments to program readability.

With such a modern language design, the Apple bug could not have arisen. A duplicated line is either:

• A keyword such as end, immediately caught as a syntax error.
• An actual instruction such as an assignment, whose duplication causes either no effect or an effect limited to the particular case covered by the branch, rather than catastrophically disrupting all cases, as in the Apple bug.

Some people, however, find it hard to accept the obvious responsibility of language design. Take this comment derisively entitled  “the goto squirrel” by Dennis Hamilton in the ACM Risks forum [2]:

It is amazing to me that, once the specific defect is disclosed (and the diff of the actual change has also been published), the discussion has devolved into one of coding style and whose code is better.  I remember similar distractions around the Ariane 501 defect too, although in that case there was nothing wrong with the code—the error was that it was being run when it wasn’t needed and it was not simulation tested with new launch parameters under the mistaken assumption that if the code worked for Ariane 4, it should work for Ariane 5.

It is not about the code.  It is not about the code.  It is not about goto. It is not about coming up with ways to avoid introducing this particular defect by writing the code differently.

Such certainty! Repeating a wrong statement ( “it is not about the code“) does not make it  right. Of course “it” is about the code! If the code had been different the catastrophe would not have happened, so one needs some gall to state that the code is not the issue — and just as much gall, given that the catastrophe would also not have happened if the programming language had been different, to state that it is not about the programming language.

When Mr. Hamilton dismisses as “distractions” the explanations pointing to programming-related causes for the Ariane-5 disaster, I assume he has in mind the analysis which I published at the time with Jean-Marc Jézéquel [3], which explained in detail how the core issue was the absence of proper specifications (contracts). At that time too, we heard dismissive comments; according to one of the critics, the programming aspects did not count, since the whole thing was really a social problem: the French engineers in Toulouse did not communicate properly with their colleagues in England! What is great with such folk explanations is that they sound just right and please people because they reinforce existing stereotypes. They are by nature as impossible to refute as they are impossible to prove. And they avoid raising the important but disturbing questions: were the teams using the right programming language, the right specification method (contracts, as our article suggested), appropriate tools? In both the Ariane-5 and Apple cases, they were not.

If you want to be considered polite, you are not supposed to point out that the use of programming languages designed for the PDP-8 or some other long-gone machine is an invitation to disaster. The more terrible the programming language people use, and the more they know it is terrible (even if they will not admit it), the more scandalized they will be that you point out that it is, indeed, terrible. It is as if you had said something about their weight or the pimples on their cheeks. Such reactions do not make the comment less true. The expression of outrage is particularly inappropriate when technical choices are not just matters for technical argument, but have catastrophic consequences on society.

The usual excuse, in response to language criticisms, is that better tools, better quality control (the main recommendation of the Ariane-5 inquiry committee back in 1997), better methodology would also have avoided the problem. Indeed, a number of the other comments in the comp.risks discussion that includes Hamilton’s dismissal of code [2] point in this direction, noting for example that static analyzers could have detected code duplication and unreachable instructions. These observations are all true, but change nothing to the role of programming languages and coding issues.  One of the basic lessons from the study of software and other industrial disasters — see for example the work of Nancy Leveson — is that a disaster results from a combination of causes. This property is in fact easy to understand: a disaster coming from a single cause would most likely have been avoided. Consider the hypothetical example of a disastrous flaw in Amazon’s transaction processing. It seems from various sources that Amazon processes something like 300 transactions a second. Now let us assume three independent factors, each occurring with a probability of a thousandth (10^-3), which could contribute to a failure. Then:

• It is impossible that one of the factors could cause failure just by itself: that means it would make a transaction fail after around 3 seconds, and would be caught even in the most trivial unit testing. No one but the developer would ever know about it.
• If two of the factors together cause failure, they will occur every million transactions, meaning about once an hour. Any reasonable testing will discover the problem before a release is ever deployed.
• If all three factors are required, the probability is 10^-9, meaning that a failure will occur about once a year. Only in that case will a real problem exist: a flaw that goes undetected for a long time, during which everything seems normal, until disaster strikes.

These observations explain why post-mortem examinations of catastrophes always point to a seemingly impossible combination of unfortunate circumstances. The archduke went to Sarajevo and he insisted on seeing the wounded and someone forgot to tell the drivers about the prudent decision to bypass the announced itinerary and the convoy stalled  and the assassin saw it and he hit Franz-Ferdinand right in the neck and there was nationalistic resentment in various countries and the system of alliances required countries to declare war [4]. Same thing for industrial accidents. Same thing for the Apple bug: obviously, there were no good code reviews and no static analysis tools applied and no good management; and, obviously, a programming language that blows out innocent mistakes into disasters of planetary import.

So much for the accepted wisdom, heard again and again in software engineering circles, that code does not matter, syntax does not count, typos are caught right away, and that all we should care about is process or agility or requirements or some other high-sounding concern more respectable than programming. Code? Programming languages? Did we not take care of those years ago? “I remember similar distractions.”

There is a  positive conclusion to the “and” nature (in probabilistic terms, the multiplicative nature) of causes necessary to produce a catastrophe in practice: it suffices to get rid of one of the operands of the “and” to falsify its result, hence avoiding the catastrophe. When people tell you that code does not matter or that language does not matter, just understand the comment for what it really means, “I am ashamed of the programming language and techniques I use but do not want to admit it so I prefer to blame problems on the rest of the world“, and make the correct deduction: use a good programming language.

References

[1] Paul Duckline:  Anatomy of a “goto fail” – Apple’s SSL bug explained, plus an unofficial patch for OS X!, Naked Security blog (Sophos), 24 February 2014, available here.

[2] Dennis E. Hamilton: The Goto Squirrel, ACM Risks Forum, 28 February 2014, available here.

[3] Jean-Marc Jézéquel and Bertrand Meyer: Design by Contract: The Lessons of Ariane, in Computer (IEEE), vol. 30, no. 1, January 1997, pages 129-130, available online here and, with reader responses here.

[4] Assassination of Ferdinand of Autria: here.