Bertrand Meyer's technology+ blog

I am happy to announce the publication of the Handbook of Requirements and Business Analysis (Springer, 2022).

It is the result of many years of thinking about requirements and how to do them right, taking advantage of modern principles of software engineering. While programming, languages, design techniques, process models and other software engineering disciplines have progressed considerably, requirements engineering remains the sick cousin. With this book I am trying to help close the gap.

The Handbook introduces a comprehensive view of requirements including four elements or PEGS: Project, Environment, Goals and System. One of its principal contributions is the definition of a standard plan for requirements documents, consisting of the four corresponding books and replacing the obsolete IEEE 1998 structure.

The text covers both classical requirements techniques and novel topics such as object-oriented requirements and the use of formal methods.

The successive chapters address: fundamental concepts and definitions; requirements principles; the Standard Plan for requirements; how to write good requirements; how to gather requirements; scenario techniques (use cases, user stories); object-oriented requirements; how to take advantage of formal methods; abstract data types; and the place of requirements in the software lifecycle.

The Handbook is suitable both as a practical guide for industry and as a textbook, with over 50 exercises and supplementary material available from the book’s site.

You can find here a book page with the preface and sample chapters.

To purchase the book, see the book page at Springer and the book page at Amazon US.

Some important concepts of software engineering, established over the years, are not widely known in the community. One use of this blog is to provide tutorials on such overlooked ideas. An earlier article covered one pertaining to project management: the Shortest Possible Schedule property . Here is another, this time in the area of requirements engineering, also based on a publication that I consider to be a classic (it is over 40 years old) but almost unknown to practitioners.

Practitioners are indeed, as in most of my articles, the intended audience. I emphasize this point right at the start because if you glance at the rest of the text you will see that it contains (horror of horrors) some mathematical formulae, and might think “this is not for me”. It is! The mathematics is very simple and my aim is practical: to shed light on an eternal question that faces anyone writing requirements (whatever the style, traditional or agile): how can I be sure that a requirements specification is complete?

To a certain extent you cannot. But there is better answer, a remarkably simple one which, while partial, helps.

Defining completeness

The better answer is called “sufficient completeness” and comes from the theory of abstract data types. It was introduced in a 1978 article by Guttag and Horning [1]. It is also implicit in a more down-to-earth document, the 1998 IEEE standard on how to write requirements [2].

There is nothing really new in the present article; in fact my book Object-Oriented Software Construction [3] contains an extensive discussion of sufficient completeness (meant to be more broadly accessible than Guttag and Horning’s scholarly article). But few people know the concepts; in particular very few practitioners have heard of sufficient completeness (if they have heard at all of abstract data types). So I hope the present introduction will be useful.

The reason the question of determining completeness of requirements seems hopeless at first is the natural reaction: complete with respect to what? To know that the specification is complete we would need a more general description of all that our stakeholders want and all the environment constraints, but this would only push the problem further: how do we know that such description itself is complete?

That objection is correct in principle: we can never be sure that we did not forget something someone wanted, or some property that the environment imposes. But there also exist more concrete and assessable notions of completeness.

The IEEE standard gives three criteria of completeness. The first states that “all requirements” have been included, and is useless, since it  runs into the logical paradox mentioned above, and is tautological anyway (the requirements are complete if they include all requirements, thank you for the information!). The second is meaningful but of limited interest (a “bureaucratic” notion of completeness): every element in the requirements document is numbered, every cross-reference is defined and so on. The last criterion is the interesting one: “Definition of the responses of the software to all realizable classes of input data in all realizable classes of situations”. Now this is meaningful. To understand this clause we need to step back to sufficient completeness and, even before that, to abstract data types.

Abstract data types will provide our little mathematical excursion (our formal picnic in the words of an earlier article) in our study of requirements and completeness. If you are not familiar with this simple mathematical theory, which every software practitioner should know, I hope you will benefit from the introduction and example. They will enable us to introduce the notion of sufficient completeness formally before we come back to its application to requirements engineering.

Specifying an abstract data type

 Abstract data types are the mathematical basis for object-oriented programming. In fact, OO programming but also OO analysis and OO design are just a realization of this mathematical concept at various levels of abstraction, even if few OO practitioners are aware of it. (Renewed reference to [3] here if you want to know more.)

An ADT (abstract data type) is a set of objects characterized not by their internal properties (what they are) but by the operations applicable to them (what they have), and the properties of these operations. If you are familiar with OO programming you will recognize that this is exactly, at the implementation level, what a class is. But here we are talking about mathematical objects and we do not need to consider implementation.

An example  of a type defined in this way, as an ADT, is a notion of POINT on a line. We do not say how this object is represented (a concept that is irrelevant at the specification level) but how it appears to the rest of the world: we can create a new point at the origin, ask for the coordinate of a point, or move the point by a certain displacement. The example is the simplest meaningful one possible, but it gives the ideas.

An ADT specification has three part: Functions, Preconditions and Axioms. Let us see them (skipping Preconditions for the moment) for the definition of the POINT abstract data type.

The functions are the operations that characterize the type. There are three kinds of function, defined by where the ADT under definition, here POINT, appears:

• Creators, where the type appears only among the results.
• Queries, where it appears only among the arguments.
• Commands, where it appears on both sides.

There is only one creator here:

new: → POINT

new is a function that takes no argument, and yields a point (the origin). We will write the result as just new (rather than using empty parentheses as in new ()).

Creators correspond in OO programming to constructors of a class (creation procedures in Eiffel). Like constructors, creators may have arguments: for example instead of always creating a point at the origin we could decide that new creates a point with a given coordinate, specifying it as INTEGER → POINT and using it as new (i) for some integer i (our points will have integer coordinates). Here for simplicity we choose a creator without arguments. In any case the new type, here POINT, appears only on the side of the results.

Every useful ADT specification needs at least one creator, without which we would never obtain any objects of the type (here any points) to work with.

There is also only one query:

x: POINT → INTEGER

 which gives us the position of a point, written x (p) for a point p. More generally, a query enables us to obtain properties of objects of the new type. These properties must be expressed in terms of types that we have already defined, like INTEGER here. Again there has to be at least one query, otherwise we could never obtain usable information (information expressed in terms of what we already know) about objects of the new type. In OO programming, queries correspond to fields (attributes) of a class and functions without side effects.

And we also have just one command:

move: POINT × INTEGER → POINT

a function that for any point p and integer i and yields a new point, move (p, i).  Again an ADT specification is not interesting unless it has at least one command, representing ways to modify objects. (In mathematics we do not actually modify objects, we get new objects. In imperative programming we will actually update existing objects.) In the classes of object-oriented programming, commands correspond to procedures (methods which may change objects).

You see the idea: define the notion of POINT through the applicable operations.

Listing their names and the types of their arguments types results (as in POINT × INTEGER → POINT) is not quite enough to specify these operations: we must specify their fundamental properties, without of course resorting to a programming implementation. That is the role of the second component of an ADT specification, the axioms.

For example I wrote above that new yields the origin, the point for which x = 0,  but you only had my word for it. My word is good but not good enough. An axiom will give you this property unambiguously:

x (new) = 0                                    — A0

The second axiom, which is also the last, tells us what move actually does. It applies to any point p and any integer m:

x (move (p, m)) = x (p) + m       — A1

In words: the coordinate of the point resulting from moving p by m is the coordinate of p plus m.

That’s it! (Except for the notion of precondition, which will wait a bit.) The example is trivial but this approach can be applied to any number of  data types, with any number of applicable operations and any level of complexity. That is what we do, at the design and implementation level, when writing classes in OO programming.

Is my ADT sufficiently complete?

Sufficient completeness is a property that we can assess on such specifications. An ADT specification for a type T (here POINT) is sufficiently complete if the axioms are powerful enough to yield the value of any well-formed query expression in a form not involving T. This definition contains a few new terms but the concepts are very simple; I will explain what it means through an example.

With an ADT specification we can form all kinds of expressions, representing arbitrarily complex specifications. For example:

x (move (move (move (new, 3), x (move (move (new, -2), 4))), -6))

This expression will yield an integer (since function x has INTEGER as its result type) describing the result of a computation with points. We can visualize this computation graphically; note that it involves creating two points (since there are two occurrences of new) and moving them, using in one case the current coordinate of one of them as displacement for the other. The following figure illustrates the process.

The result, obtained informally by drawing this picture, is the x of P5, that is to say -1. We will derive it mathematically below.

Alternatively, if like most programmers (and many other people) you find it more intuitive to reason operationally than mathematically, you may think of the previous expression as describing the result of the following OO program (with variables of type POINT):

create p                                — In C++/Java syntax: p = new POINT();
create q
p.move (3)
q.move (-2)
q.move (4)
p.move (q.x)
p.move (-6)

Result := p.x

You can run this program in your favorite OO programming language, using a class POINT with new, x and move, and print the value of Result, which will be -1.

Here, however, we will stay at the mathematical level and simplify the expression using the axioms of the ADT, the same way we would compute any other mathematical formula, applying the rules without needing to rely on intuition or operational reasoning. Here is the expression again (let’s call it i, of type INTEGER):

i = x (move (move (move (new, 3), x (move (move (new, -2), 4))), -6))

A query expression is one in which the outermost function being applied, here x, is a query function. Remember that a query function is one which the new type, here POINT, appears only on the left. This is the case with x, so the above expression i is indeed a query expression.

For sufficient completeness, query expressions are the ones of interest because their value is expressed in terms of things we already know, like INTEGERs, so they are the only way we can concretely obtain directly usable information the ADT (to de-abstract it, so to speak).

But we can only get such a value by applying the axioms. So the axioms are “sufficiently complete” if they always give us the answer: the value of any such query expression.

 Let us see if the above expression i satisfies this condition of sufficient completeness. To make it more tractable let us write  it in terms of simpler expressions (all of type POINT), as illustrated by the figure below:

p1 = move (new, 3)
p2= move (new, -2)
p3= move (p2, 4)
p4= move (p1, x (p3))
p5= move (p4, -6)
i = x (p5)

(You may note that the intermediate expressions roughly correspond to the steps in the above interpretation of the computation as a program. They also appear in the illustrative figure repeated below.)

Now we start applying the axioms to evaluating the expressions. Remember that we have two axioms: A0 tells us that x (new) = 0 and A1 that x (move (p, m)) = x (p) + m. Applying A1 to the definition the expression i yields

i = x (p4) – 6
= i4 – 6

if we define

i4 = x (p4)      — Of type INTEGER

We just have to compute i4. Applying A1 to the definion of p4 tells us that

i4 = x (p1) + x (p3)

To compute the two terms:

• Applying A1 again, we see that the first term x (p1) is x (new) + 3, but then A0 tells us that x (new) is zero, so x (p1) is 3.
• As to x (p3), it is, once more from A1, x (p2) + 4, and x (p2) is (from A1 then A0), just -2, so x (p3) is 2.

In the end, then, i4 is 5, and the value of the entire expression i = i4 – 6 is -1. Good job!

Proving sufficient completeness

The successful computation of i was just a derivation for one example, showing that in that particular case the axioms yield the answer in terms of an INTEGER. How do we go from one example to an entire specification?

The bad news first: like all interesting problems in programming, sufficient completeness of an ADT specification is theoretically undecidable. There is no general automatic procedure that will process an ADT specification and print out ““sufficiently complete” or “not sufficiently complete”.

Now that you have recovered from the shock, you can share the computer scientist’s natural reaction to such an announcement: so what. (In fact we might define the very notion of computer scientist as someone who, even before he brushes his teeth in the morning — if he brushes them at all — has already built the outline of a practical solution to an undecidable problem.) It is enough that we can find a way to determine if a given specification is sufficiently complete. Such a proof is, in fact, the computer scientist’s version of dental hygiene: no ADT is ready for prime time unless it is sufficiently complete.

The proof is usually not too hard and will follow the general style illustrated for our simple example.

We note that the definition of sufficient completeness said: “the axioms are powerful enough to yield the value of any well-formed query expression in a form not involving the type”. I have not defined “well-formed” yet. It simply means that the expressions are properly structured, with the proper syntax (basically the correct matching of parentheses) and proper number and types of arguments. For example the following are not well-formed (if p is an expression of type POINT):

move (p, 55(     — Bad use of parentheses.
move (p)            — Wrong number of arguments.
move (p, p)       — Wrong type: second argument should be an integer.

Such expressions are nonsense, so we only care about well-formed expressions. Note that in addition to new, x and move , an expression can use integer constants as in the example (although we could generalize to arbitrary integer expressions). We consider an integer constant as a query expression.

We have to prove that with the two axioms A0 and A1 we can determine the value of any query expression i. Note that since the only query functions is x, the only possible form for i, other than an integer constant, is x (p) for some expression p of type POINT.

The proof proceeds by induction on the number n of parenthesis pairs in a query expression i.

There are two base steps:

• n = 0: in that case i can only be an integer constant. (The only expression with no parentheses built out of the ADT’s functions is new, and it is not a query expression.) So the value is known. In all other cases i will be of the form x (p) as noted.
• n = 1: in that case p  can only be new, in other words i = x (new), since the only function that yields points, other than new, is move, and any use of it would add parentheses. In this case axiom A0 gives us the value of i: zero.

For the induction step, we consider i with n + 1 parenthesis pairs for n > 1. As noted, i is of the form x (p), so p has exactly n parenthesis pairs. p cannot be new (which would give 0 parenthesis pairs and was taken care of in the second base step), so p has to be of the form

p =  move (p’, i’)    — For expressions p’ of type POINT and i’ of type INTEGER.

implying (since i = x (p)) that by axiom A1, the value of i is

x (p’) + i’

So we will be able to determine the value of i if we can determine the value of both x (p’) and i’. Since p has n parenthesis pairs and p =  move (p’, i’), both p’ and i’ have at most n – 1 parenthesis pairs. (This use of n – 1 is legitimate because we have two base steps, enabling us to assume n > 1.) As a consequence, both x (p’) and i’ have at most n parenthesis pairs, enabling us to deduce their values, and hence the value of i, by the induction hypothesis.

Most proofs of sufficient completeness in my experience follow this style: induction on the number of parenthesis pairs (or the maximum nesting level).

Preconditions

I left until now the third component of a general ADT specification: preconditions. The need for preconditions arises because most practical specifications need some of their functions to be partial. A partial function from X to Y is a function that may not yield a value for some elements of X. For example, the inverse function on real numbers, which yields 1 / a for x, is partial  since it is not defined for a = 0 (or, on a computer, for non-zero but very small a).

Assume that in our examples we only want to accept points that lie in the interval [-4, +4]:

 We can simply model this property by turning move into a partial function. It was specified above as

move: POINT × INTEGER → POINT

The ordinary arrow → introduces a total (always defined) function. For a partial function we will use a crossed arrow ⇸, specifying the function as

move: POINT × INTEGER ⇸ POINT

Other functions remain unchanged. Partial functions cause trouble: for f in X ⇸ Y we can no longer cheerfully use f (x) if f is a partial function, even for x of the appropriate type X. We have to make sure that x belongs to the domain of f, meaning the set of values for which f is defined. There is no way around it: if you want your specification to be meaningful and it uses partial functions, you must specify explicitly the domain of each of them. Here is how to do it, in the case of move:

move (p: POINT; d: INTEGER) require |x (p) + d | < 5    — where |…| is absolute value

To adapt the definition (and proofs) of sufficient completeness to the possible presence of partial functions:

• We only need to consider (for the rule that axioms must yield the value of query expressions) well-formed expressions that satisfy the associated preconditions.
• The definition must, however, include the property that axioms always enable us to determine whether an expression satisfies the associated preconditions (normally a straightforward part of the proof since preconditions are themselves query expressions).

Updating the preceding proof accordingly is not hard.

Back to requirements

The definition of sufficient completeness is of great help to assess the completeness of a requirements document. We must first regretfully note that for many teams today requirements stop at  “use cases” (scenarios) or  “user stories”. Of course these are not requirements; they only describe individual cases and are to requirements what tests are to programs. They can serve to check requirements, but do not suffice as requirements. I am assuming real requirements, which include descriptions of behavior (along with other elements such as environment properties and project properties). To describe behaviors, you will define operations and their effects. Now we know what the old IEEE standard is telling us by stating that complete requirements should include

definition of the responses of the software to all realizable classes of input data in all realizable classes of situations

Whether or not we have taken the trouble to specify the ADTs, they are there in the background; our system’s operations reflect the commands, and the effects we can observe reflect the queries. To make our specification complete, we should draw as much as possible of the (mental or explicit) matrix of possible effects of all commands on all queries. “As much as possible” because software engineering is engineering and we will seldom be able to reach perfection. But the degree of fullness of the matrix tells us a lot (possible software metric here?) about how close our requirements are to completeness.

I should note that there are other aspects to completeness of requirements. For example the work of Michael Jackson, Pamela Zave and Axel van Lamsweerde (more in some later article, with full references) distinguishes between business goals, environment constraints and system properties, leading to a notion of completeness as how much the system properties meet the goals and obey the constraints [4]. Sufficient completeness operates at the system level and, together with its theoretical basis, is one of those seminal concepts that every practicing software engineer or project manager should master.

References and notes

[1] John V. Guttag, Jim J. Horning: The Algebraic Specification of Abstract Data Types, in Acta Informatica, vol. 10, no. 1, pages 27-52, 1978, available here from the Springer site. This is a classic paper but I note that few people know it today; in Google Scholar I see over 700 citations but less than 100 of them in the past 8 years.

[2]  IEEE: Recommended Practice for Software Requirements Specifications, IEEE Standard 830-1998, 1998. This standard is supposed to be obsolete and replaced by newer ones, more detailed and verbose, but it remains the better reference: plain, modest and widely applied by the industry. It does need an update, but a good one.

[3] Bertrand Meyer, Object-Oriented Software Construction, 2nd edition, Prentice Hall, 1997. The discussion of sufficient completeness was in fact already there in the first edition from 1988.

[4] With thanks to Elisabetta Di Nitto from Politecnico di Milano for bringing up this notion of requirements completeness.

A version of this article was first published on the Communications of the ACM blog.

 

 

The CMMI model of process planning and assessment has been very successful in some industry circles, essentially as a way for software suppliers to establish credibility. It is far, however, from having achieved the influence it deserves. It is, for example, not widely taught in universities, which in turn limits its attractiveness to industry. The most tempting explanation involves the substance of CMMI: that it prescribes processes that are too heavy. But in fact the basic ideas are elegant, they are not so complicated, and they have been shown to be compatible with flexible approaches to development, such as agile methods.

I think there is a simpler reason, of form rather than substance: the CMMI defining documents are atrociously written.  Had they benefited from well-known techniques of effective technical writing, the approach would have been adopted much more widely. The obstacles to comprehension discourage many people and companies which could benefit from CMMI.

Defining the concepts

One of the first qualities you expect from a technical text is that it defines the basic notions. Take one of the important concepts of CMMI, “process area”. Not just important, but fundamental; you cannot understand anything about CMMI if you do not understand what a process area is. The glossary of the basic document ([1], page 449) defines it as

A cluster of related practices in an area that, when implemented collectively, satisfies a set of goals considered important for making improvement in that area.

The mangled syntax is not a good omen: contrary to what the sentence states, it is not the area that should be “implemented collectively”, but the practices. Let us ignore it and try to understand the intended definition. A process area is a collection of practices? A bit strange, but could make sense, provided the notion of “practice” is itself well defined. Before we look at that, we note that these are practices “in an area”. An area of what? Presumably, a process area, since no other kind of area is ever mentioned, and CMMI is about processes. But then a process area is… a collection of practices in a process area? Completely circular! (Not recursive: a meaningful recursive definition is one that defines simple cases directly and builds complex cases from them. A circular definition defines nothing.)

All that this is apparently saying is that if we already know what a process area is, CMMI adds the concept that a process area is characterized by a set of associated practices. This is actually a useful idea, but it does not give us a definition.

Let’s try to see if the definition of “practice” helps. The term itself does not have an entry in the glossary, a bit regrettable but not too worrying given that in CMMI there are two relevant kinds of practices: specific and generic. “Specific practice” is defined (page 461) as

An expected model component that is considered important in achieving the associated specific goal. (See also “process area” and “specific goal.”)

This statement introduces the important observation that in CMMI a practice is always related to a “goal” (another one of the key CMMI concepts); it is one of the ways to achieve that goal. But this is not a definition of “practice”! As to the phrase “an expected model component”, it simply tells us that practices, along with goals, are among the components of CMMI (“the model”), but that is a side remark, not a definition: we cannot define “practice” as meaning “model component”.

What is happening here is that the glossary does not give a definition at all; it simply relies on the ordinary English meaning of “practice”. Realizing this also helps us understand the definition of “process area”: it too is not a definition, but assumes that the reader already understands the words “process” and “area” from their ordinary meanings. It simply tells us that in CMMI a process area has a set of associated practices. But that is not what a glossary is for: the reader expects it to give precise definitions of the technical terms used in the document.

This misuse of the glossary is typical of what makes CMMI documents so ineffective. In technical discourse it is common to hijack words from ordinary language and give them a special meaning: the mathematical use of such words as “matrix” or “edge” (of a graph) denotes well-defined objects. But you have to explain such technical terms precisely, and be clear at each step whether you are using the plain-language meaning or the technical meaning. If you mix them up, you completely confuse the reader.

In fact any decent glossary should make the distinction explicit by underlining, in definitions, terms that have their own entries (as in: a cluster or related practices, assuming there is an entry for “practice”); then it is clear to the reader whether a word is used in its ordinary or technical sense. In an electronic version the underlined words can be links to the corresponding entries. It is hard to understand why the CMMI documents do not use this widely accepted convention.

Towards suitable definitions

Let us try our hand at what suitable definitions could have been for the two concepts just described; not a vacuous exercise since process area and practice are among the five or six core concepts of CMMI. (Candidates for the others are process, goal, institutionalization and assessment).

“Practice” is the more elementary concept. In fact it retains its essential meaning from ordinary language, but in the CMMI context a practice is related to a process and, as noted, is intended to satisfy a goal. What distinguishes a practice from a mere activity is that the practice is codified and repeatable. If a project occasionally decides to conduct a  design review that is not a practice; a systematically observed daily Scrum meeting is a practice. Here is my take on defining “practice” in CMMI:

Practice: A process-related activity, repeatable as part of a plan, that helps achieve a stated goal.

CMMI has both generic practices, applicable to the process as a whole, and specific practices, applicable to a particular process area. From this definition we can easily derive definitions for both variants.

Now for “process area”. In discussing this concept above, there is one point I did not mention: the reason the CMMI documents can get away with the bizarre definition (or rather non-definition) cited is that if you ask what a process area really is you will immediately be given examples: configuration management, project planning, risk management, supplier agreement management… Then  you get it. But examples are not a substitute for a definition, at least in a standard that is supposed to be precise and complete. Here is my attempt:

Process area: An important aspect of the process, characterized by a clearly identified set of issues and activities, and in CMMI by a set of applicable practices.

The definition of “specific practice” follows simply: a practice that is associated with a particular process area. Similarly, a “generic practice” is a practice not associated with any process area.

I’ll let you be the judge: which definitions do you prefer, these or the ones in the CMMI documents?

By the way, I can hear the cynical explanation: that the jargon and obscurity are intentional, the goal being to justify the need for experts that will interpret the sacred texts. Similar observations have been made to explain the complexity of certain programming languages. Maybe. But bad writing is common enough that we do not need to invoke a conspiracy in this case.

Training for the world championship of muddy writing

The absence of clear definitions of basic concepts is inexcusable. But the entire documents are written in government-committee-speak that erect barriers against comprehension. As an example among hundreds, take the following extract, the entire description of the generic practice GP2.2, “Establish and maintain the plan for performing the organizational training process“” , part of the Software CMM (a 729-page document!), [2], page 360:

This plan for performing the organizational training process differs from the tactical plan for organizational training described in a specific practice in this process area. The plan called for in this generic practice would address the comprehensive planning for all of the specific practices in this process area, from the establishment of strategic training needs all the way through to the assessment of the effectiveness of the organizational training effort. In contrast, the organizational training tactical plan called for in the specific practice would address the periodic planning for the delivery of individual training offerings.

Even to a good-willed reader the second and third sentences sound like gibberish. One can vaguely intuit that the practice just introduced is being distinguished from another, but which one, and how? Why the conditional phrases, “would address”? A plan either does or does not address its goals. And if it addresses them, what does it mean that a plan addresses a planning? Such tortured tautologies, in a high-school essay, would result in a firm request to clean up and resubmit.

In fact the text is trying to say something simple, which should have been expressed like this:

This practice is distinct from practice SP1.3, “Establish an Organizational Training Tactical Plan” (page 353). The present practice is strategic: it is covers planning the overall training process. SP1.3 is tactical: it covers the periodic planning of individual training activities.

(In the second sentence we could retain “from defining training needs all the way to assessing the effectiveness of training”, simplified of course from the corresponding phrase in the original, although I do not think it adds much.)

Again, which version do you prefer?

The first step in producing something decent was not even a matter of style but simple courtesy to the reader. The text compares a practice to another, but it is hard to find the target of the comparison: it is identified as the “tactical plan for organizational training” but that phrase does not appear anywhere else in the document!  You have to guess that it is listed elsewhere as the “organizational training tactical plan”, search for that string, and cycle through its 14 occurrences to see which one is the definition.  (To make things worse, the phrase “training tactical plan” also appears in the document — not very smart for what is supposed to be a precisely written standard.)

The right thing to do is to use the precise name, here SP1.3 — what good is it to introduce such code names throughout a document if it does not use them for reference? — and for good measure list the page number, since this is so easy to do with text processing tools.

In the CMMI chapter of my book Touch of Class (yes, an introductory programming textbook does contain an introduction to CMMI) I cited another extract from [2] (page 326):

The plan for performing the organizational process focus process, which is often called “the process-improvement plan,” differs from the process action plans described in specific practices in this process area. The plan called for in this generic practice addresses the comprehensive planning for all of the specific practices in this process area, from the establishment of organizational process needs all the way through to the incorporation of process-related experiences into the organizational process assets.

In this case the translation into text understandable by common mortals is left as an exercise for the reader.

With such uncanny ability to say in fifty words what would better be expressed in ten, it is not surprising that basic documents run into 729 pages and that understanding of CMMI by companies who feel compelled  to adopt it requires an entire industry of commentators of the sacred word.

Well-defined concepts have simple names

The very name of the approach, “Capability Maturity Model Integration”, is already a sign of WMD (Word-Muddying Disease) at the terminal stage. I am not sure if anyone anywhere knows how to parse it correctly: is it the integration of a model of maturity of capability (right-associative interpretation)? Of several models? These and other variants do not make much sense, if only because in CMMI “capability” and “maturity” are alternatives, used respectively for the Continuous and Staged versions.

In fact the only word that seems really useful is “model”; the piling up of tetrasyllabic words with very broad meanings does not help suggest what the whole thing is about. “Integration”, for example, only makes sense if you are aware of the history of CMMI, which generalized the single CMM model to a family of models, but this history is hardly interesting to a newcomer. A name, especially a long one, should carry the basic notion.

A much better name would have been “Catalog of Assessable Process Practices”, which is even pronounceable as an acronym, and defines the key elements: the approach is based on recognized best practices; these practices apply to processes (of an organization); they must be subject to assessment (the most visible part of CMMI — the famous five levels — although not necessarily the most important one); and they are collected into a catalog. If “catalog” is felt too lowly, “collection” would also do.

Catalog of Assessable Process Practices: granted, it sounds less impressive than the accumulation of pretentious words making up the actual acronym. As is often the case in software engineering methods and tools, once you remove the hype you may be disappointed at first (“So that’s all that it was after all!”), and then you realize that the idea, although brought back down to more modest size, remains a good idea, and can be put to effective use.

At least if you explain it in English.

References

[1] CMMI Product Team: CMMI for Development, Version 1.3, Improving processes for developing better products and services, Technical Report CMU/SEI-2010-TR-033, Software Engineering Institute, Carnegie Mellon University, November 2010, available here.

[2] CMMI Product Team, ; CMMI for Systems Engineering/Software Engineering/Integrated Product and Process Development/Supplier Sourcing, Version 1.1, Staged Representation (CMMI-SE/SW/IPPD/SS, V1.1, Staged) (CMU/SEI-2002-TR-012). Software Engineering Institute, Carnegie Mellon University, 2002, available here.

The IEEE Standard for Requirements Specifications [1], a short and readable text providing concrete and useful advice, is a valuable guide for anyone writing requirements. In our course projects we always require students to follow its recommended structure.

Re-reading it recently, I noticed the following extract  in the section that argues that a  requirements specification should be verifiable (sentence labels in brackets are my addition):

[A] Nonverifiable requirements include statements such as “works well,” “good human interface,” and “shall usually happen.” [B] These requirements cannot be verified because it is impossible to define the terms “good,” “well,” or “usually.”

[C] The statement that “the program shall never enter an infinite loop” is nonverifiable because the testing of this quality is theoretically impossible.

[D] An example of a verifiable statement is
      [E] “Output of the program shall be produced within 20 s of event 60% of the time; and shall be produced within 30 s of event 100% of the time.”
[F] This statement can be verified because it uses concrete terms and measurable quantities.

[A] and [B] are good advice, deserving to be repeated in every software engineering course and to anyone writing requirements. [C], however, is puzzling.

One might initially understand that the authors are telling us that it is impossible to devise a finite set of tests guaranteeing that a program terminates. But on closer examination this cannot be what they mean. Such a statement, although correct, would be uninteresting since it can be applied to any functional requirement: if I say “the program shall accept an integer as input and print out that same integer on the output”, I also cannot test that (trivial) requirement finitely since I would have to try all integers. The same observation applies to the example given in [D, E, F]: the property [D] they laud as an example of a  “verifiable” requirement is just as impossible to test exhaustively [2].

Since the literal interpretation of [C] is trivial and applies to essentially all possible requirements, whether bad or good in the authors’ eyes, they must mean something else when they cite loop termination as their example of a nonverifiable requirement. The word “theoretically” suggests what they have in mind: the undecidability results of computation theory, specifically the undecidability of the Halting Problem. It is well known that no general mechanism exists to determine whether an arbitrary program, or even just an arbitrary loop, will terminate. This must be what they are referring to.

Except, of course, that they are wrong. And a very good thing too that they are wrong, since “The program shall never enter an infinite loop” is a pretty reasonable requirement for any system [3].

If we were to accept [C], we would also accept that it is OK for any program to enter an infinite loop every once in a while, because the authors of its requirements were not permitted to specify otherwise! Fortunately for users of software systems, this particular sentence of the standard is balderdash.

What the halting property states, of course, is that no general mechanism exists that could examine an arbitrary program or loop and tell us whether it will always terminate. This result in no way excludes the possibility of verifying (although not through “testing”) that a particular program or loop will terminate. If the text of a program shows that it will print “Hello World” and do nothing else, we can safely determine that it will terminate. If a loop is of the form

from i := 1 until i > 10 loop
…..print (i)
…..i := i + 1
end

there is also no doubt about its termination. More complex examples require the techniques of modern program verification, such as exhibiting a loop variant in the sense of Hoare logic, but they can still be practically tractable.

Like many fundamental results of modern science (think of Heisenberg’s uncertainty principle), Turing’s demonstration of the undecidability of the Halting Problem is at the same time simple to state, striking, deep, and easy to misunderstand. It is touchingly refreshing to find such a misunderstanding in an IEEE standard.

Do not let it discourage you from applying the excellent advice of the rest of IEEE 830-1998, ; but when you write a program, do make sure — whether or not the requirements specify this property explicitly — that all its loops terminate.

Reference and notes

[1] IEEE Computer Society: IEEE Recommended Practice for Software Requirements SpeciÞcations, IEEE Standard 830-1998, revised 1998; available here (with subscription).

[2] The property [E] is actually more difficult to test, even non-exhaustively, than the authors acknowledge, if only because it is a probabilistic requirement, which can only be tested after one has defined appropriate probabilistic hypotheses.

[3] In requesting that all programs must terminate we must of course take note of the special case of systems that are non-terminating by design, such as most embedded systems. Such systems, however, are still made out of components representing individual steps that must terminate. The operating system on your smartphone may need to run forever (or until the next reboot), but the processing of an incoming text message is still, like a traditional program, required to terminate in finite time.

 

Reading about the latest hullabaloo around Android’s usage of Java, and more generally following the incessant flow of news about X suing Y in the software industry (with many combinations of X and Y) over Java and other object-oriented technologies, someone with an Eiffel perspective can only smile. Throughout its history, suggestions to use Eiffel have often been met initially — along with “Will Eiffel still be around next year?”, becoming truly riotous after 25 years — with objections of proprietariness, apparently because Eiffel initially came from a startup company. In contrast, many other approaches, from C++ to Smalltalk and Java, somehow managed to get favorable vibes from the media; the respective institutions, from AT&T to Xerox and Sun, must be disinterested benefactors of humanity.

Now many who believed this are experiencing a next-morning surprise, discovering under daylight that the person next to whom they wake up is covered with patents and lawsuits.

For their part, people who adopted Eiffel over the years and went on to develop project after project  do not have to stay awake worrying about legal issues and the effects of corporate takeovers; they can instead devote their time to building the best software possible with adequate methods, notations and tools.

This is a good time to recall the regulatory situation of Eiffel. First, the Eiffel Software implementation (EiffelStudio): the product can be used through either an open-source and a proprietary licenses. With both licenses the software is exactly the same; what differs is the status of the code users generate: with the open-source license, they are requested to make their own programs open-source; to keep their code proprietary, they need the commercial license. This is a fair and symmetric requirement. It is made even more attractive by the absence of any run-time fees or royalties of the kind typically charged by database vendors.

The open-source availability of the entire environment, over 2.5 millions line of (mostly Eiffel) code, has spurred the development of countless community contributions, with many more in progress.

Now for the general picture on the language, separate from any particular implementation. Java’s evolution has always been tightly controlled by Sun and now its successor Oracle. There may actually be technical arguments in favor of the designers retaining a strong say in the evolution of a language, but they no longer seem to apply any more now that most of the Java creators have left the company. Contrast this with Eiffel, which is entirely under the control of an international standards committee at ECMA International, the oldest and arguably the most prestigious international standards body for information technology. The standard is freely available online from the ECMA site [1]. It is also an ISO standard [2].

The standardization process is the usual ECMA setup, enabling any interested party to participate. This is not just a statement of principle but the reality, to which I can personally testify since, in spite of being the language’s original designer and author of the reference book, I lost countless battles in the discussions that led to the current standard and continue in preparation of the next version. While I was not always pleased on the moment, the committee’s collegial approach has led to a much more solid result than any single person could have achieved.

The work of ECMA TC49-TG4 (the Eiffel standard committee) has disproved the conventional view that committees can only design camels. In fact TC49-TG4 has constantly worked to keep the language simple and manageable, not hesitating to remove features deemed obsolete or problematic, while extending the range of the language and increasing the Eiffel programmer’s power of expression. As a result, Eiffel today is an immensely better language than when we started our work in 2002. Without a strong community-based process we would never, for example, have made Eiffel the first widespread language to guarantee void-safety (the compile-time removal of null-pointer-dereferencing errors), a breakthrough for software reliability.

Open, fair, free from lawsuits and commercial fights, supported by an enthusiastic community: for projects that need a modern quality-focused software framework, Eiffel is a safe and stable solution.

References

[1] ECMA International: Standard ECMA-367: Eiffel: Analysis, Design and Programming Language, 2nd edition (June 2006), available here (free download).

[2] International Organization for Standardization: ISO/IEC 25436:2006: Information technology — Eiffel: Analysis, Design and Programming Language, available here (for a fee; same text as [1], different formatting).