Bertrand Meyer's technology+ blog

It is a common occurrence in software development. Someone says: “We should design a language”. The usual context is that some part of the development requires a rich functionality set, and it appears appropriate to provide a flexible solution through a specialized language. As an example, in the development of an airline’s frequent flyer program on which I once worked the suggestion came to design a “Flyer Award Language” , with instructions appropriate for that application domain: record a trip, redeem an award, provide a statement of available miles and so on. A common term for such notations is DSL, for Domain-Specific Language.

Designing a language in such a context is almost always a bad idea (and I am not sure why I wrote “almost”). Languages are endless objects of discussion, usually on the least important aspects, which are also the most visible and those on which everyone has a strong opinion: concrete syntactic properties. People might pretend otherwise (“let’s not get bogged down on syntax, this is just one possible form”) but syntax is what the discussions will get bogged down to — keywords or symbols, this order or that order of operands, one instruction with several variants vs. several instructions… — at the expense of discussing the fundamental issues of functionality.

Worse yet, even if a language will be part of the solution it is usually just one facet to the solution. As was already explained in detail in [1], any useful functionality set will naturally be useful through several interfaces: a textual notation with concrete syntax may be one of them, but other possible ones include an API (Abstract Program Interface) for use from other software elements, a Graphical User Interface, a web user interface, yet another for web services (typically WSDL or some other XML or JSON format).

In such cases, starting with a concrete textual language is pretty silly, since it cannot yield the others directly (it would have to be parsed and further analyzed, which does not make sense). Of all the kinds of interface listed, the most fundamental one is the API: it describes the raw functionality, excluding any choice of syntax but including, thanks to contracts, elements of semantics. For example, a class AWARD in our frequent flyer application might include the feature

             redeem_for_upgrade (c: CUSTOMER; f : FLIGHT)
                                     — Upgrade c to next class of service on f.
                       require
                                    c /= holder implies holder.allowed_substitute (c)
                                    f.permitted_for_upgrade (Current)
                                    c.booked ( f )
                        ensure
                                    c.class_of_service ( f ) =  old c.class_of_service ( f ) + 1

There is of course no implementation as this declaration only specifies an interface, but it says what needs to be said: to redeem the award for an upgrade, the intended customer must be either the holder of the award or an allowed substitute; the flight must be available for an upgrade with the current award (including the availability of enough miles); the intended customer must already be booked on the flight; and the upgrade will be for the next class of service.

These details are the kind of things that need to be discussed and agreed before the API is finalized. Then one can start discussing about a textual form (a DSL), a graphical interface, a web services interface. They all consist of relatively simple layers to be superimposed on a solidly defined and precisely specified basis. Once you have that basis, you can have all the fun you like arguing over everyone’s favorite forms of concrete syntax; it cannot hurt the project any more. Having these discussions early, at the expense of the more fundamental issues, is a great danger.

One of the key rules for successful software construction — as for many other ventures of course, especially in science and technology — is to distinguish the essential from the auxiliary, and consequently to devote proper attention to the essential issues while avoiding disputations of auxiliary issues. To define functionality, API is essential; language is auxiliary.

So when should you design a language? Never. Well, hardly ever.

Reference

[1] Bertrand Meyer: Introduction to the Theory of Programming Languages, Prentice Hall, 1990.

I think I recently understood how software should be designed — or at least, since I have informally practiced the method for some time, how to explain it. Maybe not absolutely all types of software, but the most important kind: APIs (abstract program interfaces). The key task in software design is to define proper interfaces; if it is done right, everything else will fall into place, and if it is done wrong, there will be no end of problems everywhere else.

To put a Swiss theme to the description I may call this approach the Gotthard method. You are building a tunnel, starting from both sides at the same time, the northern, rainy, German-speaking part, and the southern, sunny, Italian-speaking part. (Actual languages and climates may vary.)

For the method to work it is really important that the two crews should meet somewhere in the middle:

In software design we are typically confronted with two views:

• The client view: application software needs certain abstractions and functionalities that will make it easy to produce clear, simple, extendible, reusable client programs.
• The supplier view: the necessary mechanisms are usually available in a raw form directly reflecting the underlying platform, a combination of hardware and software facilities.

Good design is a negotiation and iteration process that tries to reconcile the two views, working top-down from the client side and bottom-up from the supplier side, just as you would work when digging a tunnel between Unterwald and the Tessin.

As an example, consider a Web-oriented API. On the supplier side, we have a stateless protocol with essentially one mechanism: processing a request and sending a response. On the client side, we want to enable the building of applications, such as an e-commerce site, which need to pretend that they are working with stateful sessions, just as with a classical client-server GUI setup. The task of building software is to provide what the client application needs, in terms that make sense to the client and with all the abstractions that it needs — in our example, SESSION, STATE, USER and so on.

Since these higher-level abstractions are not directly provided by the supplier side, they need to be implemented or, to use a more appropriate term, faked. After all, everything in computer science is about faking: pretending that we have machines that we really don’t, simply by building them conceptually, in the form of APIs, in terms of machines that we have already built (bottom-up approach) or hope to build (top-down approach). “Building” a machine here means— except for the bottom-most machines, down at the level of the hardware, which very few programmers ever use directly anyway —faking them again, in terms of simpler ones. Fakes all the way down.

The process of software design then consists of developing intermediate levels of abstraction until we reach a compromise: a set of abstractions that satisfy the needs of application programmers and are efficiently implementable (or better yet, already implemented as part of this negotiation process) on the basis of what was available in the first place.

A poorly functioning software process will be more like yoyo design: trying something too abstract, then something too low-level and so on, converging too late if at all. Effective design is like boring a tunnel using modern engineering techniques, which rely on a clear understanding of where the crews start on both sides and make sure they end up meeting in the right place.

Photo reference: Herrenknecht AG, www.herrenknecht.com.