Writing Maintainable Code Demands Creativity
Writing maintainable code is for “Code Monkeys”?
This morning, I read an interesting blog post from Erik McClure. The premise of the post is that writing maintainable code is sufficiently boring and frustrating as to discourage people from the programming profession. A few excerpts from the post are:
There is an endless stream of rheteric discussing how dangerous writing clever code is, and how good programmers don’t write clever code, or fast code, but maintainable code, that can’t have clever for loop statements or fancy tricks. This is wrong – good codemonkeys write maintainable code.
What I noticed was that it only became intolerable when I was writing horrendously boring, maintainable code (like unit tests). When I was programming things I wasn’t supposed to be programming, and solving problems in ways I’m not supposed to, my creativity had found its outlet. Programming can not only be fun, but real programming is, itself, an art, a solution to a problem that itself embodies a certain elegance. Society in general seems to be forgetting what makes us human in the wake of a digital revolution that automatizes menial tasks. Your creativity is the most valuable thing you have.
When you write a function that does things the right way, when you refactor a clever subroutine to something that conforms to standards, you are tearing the soul out of your code. Bit by bit, you forget who you are and what the code means. The standards may enforce maintainable and well-behaved code, but it does so at the cost of your individuality. Coding becomes middle-school math, where you have to solve the same, reworded problem a hundred times to get a good grade so you can go do something else that’s actually useful. It becomes a means to an end, not an adventure in and of itself.
Conformity for the Sake of Maintainability
There seem to be a few different themes here. The first one I see is one with which I have struggled myself in the past: chafing at being forced to change the way you do things to conform to a group convention. I touched on that here and here. The reason that I mention this is the references to “[conforming] to standards” and the apparent justification of those standards being that they make code “maintainable”. The realpolitik of this situation is such that it doesn’t really matter what justification is cited (appeal to maintainability, appeal to convention, appeal to anonymous authority, appeal to named authority, appeal to threat, etc). In the end, it boils down to “because I said so”. I mention this only insofar as I will dismiss this theme as not having much to do with maintainability itself. Whatever Erik was forced to do may or may not have actually had any bearing whatsoever on the maintainability of the code (i.e. “maintainability” could have been code for “I just don’t like what you did, but I should have an official sounding reason”).
Maintainable Code is Boring Code
So, on to the second theme, which is that writing maintainable code is boring. In particular Erik mentions unit tests, but I’d hazard a guess that he might also be talking about small methods, SRP classes, and other clean coding principles. And, I actually agree with him to an extent. Writing code like that is uneventful in some ways that people might not be used to.
That is, say that you don’t perform unit tests, and you write large, coupled, complex classes and methods. When you fire up your application for the first time after a few hours of coding, that’s pretty exciting. You have no idea what it’s going to do, though the smart money is on “crash badly”. But, if it doesn’t, and it runs, that’s a heady feeling and a rush — like winning $100 in the lottery. The work is also interesting because you’re going to be spending lots of time in the debugger, writing bunches of local variables down on paper to keep them straight. Keeping track of all of the strands of your code requires full concentration, and there’s a feeling of incredible accomplishment when you finally track down that needle in-a-haystack bug after an all-nighter.
On the flip side, someone who writes a lot of tests and conforms to the clean code/craftsmanship mantra has a less exciting life. If you truly practice TDD, the first time you fire up the application, you already know it’s going to work. The lottery-game excitement of longshot odds with high payoff is replaced by a dependable salary. And, as for the maddening all-nighter bugs, those too are gone. You can pretty much reproduce a problem immediately, and solve it just as quickly with an additional failing test that you make pass. The underdog, down by a lot all game, followed by miracle comeback is replaced by a game where you’re winning handily from wire to wire. All of the roller-coaster highs and lows with their panicked all nighters and miracle finishes are replaced by you coming in at 9, leaving at 5, and shipping software on time or ahead of schedule.
Making Code Maintainable Is Brainless
The third main theme that I saw was the idea that writing clever code and maintainable code is mutually exclusive, and that the latter is brainless. Presumably, this is colored to some degree by the first theme, but on its own, the implication is that maintainable code is maintainable because it is obtuse and insufficient to solve the problem. That is, instead of actually solving problems that they’re tasked with, the maintainable-focused drones oversimplify the problem and settle for meeting most, if not all of the requirements of the software.
I say this because of Erik’s vehement disagreement with the adage that roughly says “clever code is bad code”. I’ve seen this pithy expression explained in more detail by people like Uncle Bob (Robert Martin) and I know that it requires further explanation because it actually sounds discouraging and draconian stated simply. (Though, I think this is the intended, provocative effect to make the reader/listener demand an explanation). But, taken at face value I would agree with Erik. I don’t relish the thought of being paid a wage to keep quiet and do stupid things.
Let’s pull back for a moment and consider the nature of software and software development. In his post, Erik bleakly points out that software “automatizes[sic] menial tasks”. I agree with his take, but with a much more optimistic spin — I’m in the business of freeing people from drudgery. But, either way, there can be little debate that the vast majority of software development is about automating tasks — even game development, which could be said to automate pretend playground games, philosophically (kids don’t need to play “cops and robbers” on the playground using sticks and other makeshift toys when games about detectives and mobsters automate this for them).
And, as we automate tasks, what we’re doing is taking tasks that have some degree of intrinsic complexity and falling on the grenade of that complexity so that completing the task is simple, intuitive, and even pleasant (enter user experience and graphic design) for prospective users. So, as developers, we deal with complexity so that end users don’t have to. We take complicated processes and model them, and simplify them without oversimplifying them. This is at the heart of software development and it’s a task so complex that all manner of methodologies, philosophies, technologies, and frameworks have been invented in an attempt to get it right. We make the complex simple for our non-technical end users.
Back in the days when software solved simpler problems than it does now, things were pretty straightforward. There were developers and there were users. Users didn’t care what the code looked like internally, and developers generally operated alone or perhaps in small teams for any given task. In this day and age, end-users still don’t care what the code looks like, but development teams are large, sometimes enormous, and often distributed geographically, temporally, and according to specialty. You no longer have a couple of people that bang out all necessary code for a project. You have library writers, database people, application coders, graphic designers, maintenance programmers etc.
With this complexity, an interesting paradigm has emerged. End-users are further removed, and you have other, technical users as well. If you’re writing a library or an IDE plugin, your users are other programmers. If you’re writing any code, the maintenance programmer that will come along later is one of your users. If you’re an application developer, a graphic designer is one of your users. Sure, there are still end-users, but there are more stakeholders now to consider than there used to be.
In light of this development, writing code that is hard to maintain and declaring that this is just how you do things is a lot like writing a piece of code with an awful user interface and saying to your users “what do you want from me — it works, doesn’t it?” You’re correct, and you’re destined to go out of business. If I have a programmer on my team who consistently and proudly writes code that only he understands and only he can decipher, I’m hoping that he’s on another team as soon as possible. Because the fact of the matter is that anybody can write code that meets the requirements, but only a creative, intelligent person can do it in such a way that it’s quickly understood by others without compromising the correctness and performance of the solution.
Creativity, Cleverness and Maintainability
Let’s say that I’m working and I find code that sorts elements in a list using bubble sort, which is conceptually quite simple. I decide that I want to optimize, so I implement quick sort, which is more complex. One might argue that I’m being much more clever, because quick sort is a more elegant solution. But, quicksort is harder for a maintenance programmer to grasp. So, is the solution to leave bubble sort in place for maintainability? Clearly not, and if someone told Erik to do that, I understand and empathize with his bleak outlook. But then, the solution also isn’t just to slap quicksort in and call it a day either. The solution is to take the initial implementation and break it out into methods that wrap the various control structures and have descriptive names. The solution is to eliminate one method with a bunch of incrementers and decrementers in favor of several with more clearly defined scope and purpose. The solution is, in essence, to teach the maintenance programmer quicksort by making your quicksort code so obvious and so readable that even the daft could grasp it.
That is not easy to do. It requires creativity. It requires knowing the subject matter not just well enough to get it right through trial and error, not just well enough to know it cold and not just well enough to explain it to the brightest pupil, but well enough that your explanation shines through the code and is unmistakable. In other words, it requires creativity, mastery, intelligence, and clarity of thought.
And, when you do things this way, unit tests and other ‘boring’ code become less boring. They let you radically alter the internal mechanism of an algorithm without changing its correctness. They let you conduct time trials on the various components as you go to ensure that you’re not sacrificing performance. And, they document further how to use your code and clarify its purpose. They’re no longer superfluous impositions but tools in your arsenal for solving problems and excelling at what you do. With a suite of unit tests and refactored code, you’re able to go from bubble sort to quick sort knowing that you’ll get immediate feedback if something goes wrong, allowing you to focus exclusively on a slick algorithm. They’ll even allow you to go off tilting at tantalizing windmills like an unprecedented linear time sorting — hey, if the tests run in N time and all go green, you’re up for some awards and speaking engagements. For all that cleverness, you ought to get something.
So Why is “Cleverness” Bad?
What do they mean that cleverness is bad, anyway? Why say something like that? The aforementioned Bob Martin, in a video presentation I once watched, said something like “you know you’re looking at good code when someone reading it is saying ‘uh-huh’, ‘uh-huh’, ‘yep’, ‘makes sense’, ‘uh-huh'”. Contrast this with code that you see where your first reaction is “What on Earth…?!?” That is often the reaction to non-functional or incorrect code, but it is just as frequently the reaction to ‘clever’ code.
The people who believe in the idea of avoiding ‘clever’ code are talking about Rube-Goldbergian code, generally employed to work around some hole in their knowledge. This might refer to someone who defines 500 functions containing 1 through 500 if statements because he isn’t aware of the existence of a “for” loop. It may be someone who defines and heavily uses something called IndexedList because he doesn’t know what an array is. It may be this, this, this or this. I’ve seen this in the wild, where I was looking at someone’s code and I said to myself, “for someone who didn’t know what a class is, this is a fairly clever oddball attempt to replicate the concept.”
The term ‘clever’ is very much tongue-in-cheek in the context of clean coding and programming wisdom. It invariably means a quixotic, inferior solution to a problem that has already been solved and whose solution is common knowledge, or it means a needlessly complex, probably flawed way of doing something new. Generally speaking, the only person who thinks that it is actually clever, sans quotes, is the person who did it and is proud of it. If someone is truly breaking new ground, that solution won’t be described as ‘clever’ in this sense, but probably as “innovative” or “ground-breaking” or “impressive”. Avoiding ‘clever’ implementations is about avoiding pointless hacks and bad reinventions of the wheel — not avoiding using one’s brain. If I were coining the phrase, I’d probably opt for “cute” over “clever”, but I’m a little late to the party. Don’t be cute — put the considerable brainpower required for elegant problem solving to problems that are worth solving and that haven’t already been solved.