Why do crumbling old stone buildings seem so much more real, more significant and truthy than the new ones we shape of fine extrusions of aluminum, glass and plastic?

We see them as permanent, in a way that we can’t imagine newer buildings being. A stone wall might remain erect, draw its line for centuries. But like a discarded drinks can, that aluminium curtain wall will be oxidized away, or discarded by our newness worshipping economy so much sooner.

It’s as if the builders and architects that created Greenside church held an innocent idea in their minds that this structure was being created for EVER, Forever. As though some of that human confidence, or that obstinate human fallacy remains within the stones, and the structure imagines itself a permanent resident of Edinburgh.

Many new buildings have no such innocent imaginings. They know of the business plans that funded their construction. They hold an awareness of their own impermanence. They are temporary visitors to the city only, and don’t waste time with romantic notions or illusions of permanence.