April 15, 2005
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The theme of my talk at American University this afternoon was a simple puzzle.

When we make exciting new software, we aren't just trying to make things slightly better. We're trying to change everything, to make things a lot better. These are big aspirations, but we've sometimes succeeded.

So, this is what we're trying to do. But we also want to know we're making things better, we want to know when it's right. We want to know it.

And our techniques for measuring software quality, while good for measuring incremental improvements, are essentially blind to major successes. Terrific outcomes are bound to be rare: it's just too much to expect to make a terrific difference for nearly everybody. Statistical methods -- drag races, usability studies -- will never see more than one. And, if you see one terrific outcome in a sample of, say, 25 tests, you're almost certain to reject it as an outlier or a special case or a failure.

And if you don't, the reviewers will.

Perhaps the model here should be medicine -- another discipline that, like computer science, is essentially a craft (and sometimes an art) with aspirations to scientific seriousness -- to know and to demonstrate that the solution is good rather than simply to believe it so. The medical literature has long had a place for rare diseases and unexpected outcomes.

Perhaps I'm reading the wrong literature. But it seems to me that we're a lot better at finding out whether this widget is 5% faster than that widget, than we are at learning about programs that can sometimes change everything