I’ve read Dan North post Programming is not a craft and I have to say that I have mixed feelings about it.
I’ve always been against recognizing beauty in software in general and in code in particular. I don’t think that coding is an art and I don’t think that any programmer can be characterized as an artist. Code has no aim beyond solving a problem and providing some utility to a user (where a user can be another system, an organization, etc., not necessarily the end user alone). Good code is code that solves a problem AND it’s easy to change, highly cohesive and decoupled, without duplications, etc. Bad code is code that doesn’t express those qualities. So it would be a stretch to talk about good code in terms of beauty, IMO.
And I agree with a lot more from that post. For example, I like and agree with the analogy of the samurai. And I do actually believe that: “It takes a real expert – a real craftsman – to see the elegant simplicity buried away inside the mess we call enterprise software, for instance, and tease it out.”
Having said that, I also disagree with his characterization of craftsmanship, especially in artistic terms. I think that our work, the way I see it, the way I do it every day, has a lot in common with what master craftsmen used to do in Italy during the Renaissance. And a lot of it clearly wasn’t art at all, it’s just good work well done.
Back in 2002, I had a lot of troubles trying to communicate to friends and family my passion about writing code. Passion is not even the right word, “care” is more appropriate. I do care a lot about the code that gets written. And for me, the idea that code must solve a problem, is a given. Speculative coding is like onanism: you get tired of it very soon. So, taking for granted that code must solve a problem, why do I care about how the problem is solved?
Literature to the rescue. In that period I was reading a book from Erri De Luca, callend Montedidio (by the way, it has been translated in English, I recommend it). A passage just drilled in my brain:
Mast’Errico mi ha messo a stendere il turapori e a carteggiare. Alliscio le ante di un armadio per vestiti. [...] Oggi ha provato la chiusura della prima anta e quella ha combaciato così bene che ha fatto il rumore del soffio, l’aria se n’è scappata da dentro. Mi ha fatto mettere la faccia vicina al battente, ho sentito una carezza d’aria. [...] Poi mast’Errico l’ha smontato e l’ha coperto, è un’opera importante, aggiusta tutta un’annata. I cassetti sono di faggio, gli incastri a coda di rondine, una soddisfazione vederglieli uscire da sotto le mani. Controlla gli squadri molte volte, ingrassa le guide, sfila e riinfila i cassetti senza rumore, come la lenza in mare, dice, che sale e scende muta in mano a lui. Mast’Errì, dico, siete un fenomeno, un ebanista pescatore.
A rough translation in English would be:
Mast’Errico put me to spread the filler and sanding. I smooth the doors of a wardrobe. [...] Today, he tried closing the first door and it matched so well that it made the sound of the breath, the air has escaped from inside. It made me put my face close to the door, I felt a caress of air. [...] Mast’Errico then has dismounted it and covered it, it is an important work, it fits an entire year within. The drawers are made of beech, the joints are shaped like dovetails, such a pleasure watching him crafting them with his hands. He checks out the alignments many times, he greases the rails, and he pulls the drawers back and forth without noise, as the line at sea, he said, rising and falling silent in his hand. Mast’Errì, I say, you’re a phenomenon, a cabinetmaker fisherman.
So, this is my take at software craftsmanship almost 9 years ago, recorded in a message to the Italian XP mailing list on 12/3/2002, years before anybody even started talking about it.
My message back then ended with the following:
A software engineer is a postmodern version of a craftsman. The death of a craftsman can be violent (due to lack of competence, negligence) or because of starvation (overengineering, gold plating). When a technique is overcome a skilled craftsman must reinvent itself or die.
PS: I’ve stopped trying to explain to people my work. In a social context I typically say: “I work with computers”. If I’m really in a good mood I may even say: “I write software”. That’s it. I get less frustrated this way.