“What do you mean, words whose meanings evolved?" asked Alif. "That doesn't make sense. The Quran is the Quran."
Vikram folded his legs-Alif did not watch this operation closely-and smiled at his audience.
"The convert will understand. How do they translate ذرة in your English interpretation?"
"Atom," said the convert.
You don't find that strange, considering atoms were unknown in the sixth century?"
The convert chewed her lip. "I never thought of that," she said.
"You're right. There's no way atom is the original meaning of that word."
"Ah." Vikram held up two fingers in a sign of benediction. He looked, Alif thought, like some demonic caricature of a saint. "But it is. In the twentieth century, atom became the original meaning of ذرة, because an atom was the tiniest object known to man. Then man split the atom. Today, the original meaning might be hadron. But why stop there? Tomorrow, it might be quark. In a hundred years, some vanishingly small object so foreign to the human mind that only Adam remembers its name. Each of those will be the original meaning of ذرة.
Alif snorted. "That's impossible. ذرة must refer to some fundamental thing. It's attached to an object."
"Yes it is. The smallest indivisible particle. That is the meaning packaged in the word. No part of it lifts out-it does not mean smallest, nor indivisible, nor particle, but all those things at once. Thus, in man's infancy, ذرة was a grain of sand. Then a mote of dust. Then a cell. Then a molecule. Then an atom. And so on. Man's knowledge of the universe may grow, but ذرة does not change."
"That's..."The convert trailed off, looking lost.
"Miraculous. Indeed.”
―
G. Willow Wilson,
Alif the Unseen