I travel the world, and I'm happy to say that America is still

The words of Philip Glass, composer of vast soundscapes and seeker of human truth, resound with both humor and solemnity: “I travel the world, and I’m happy to say that America is still the great melting pot—maybe a chunky stew rather than a melting pot at this point, but you know what I mean.” In these words lies the recognition of a nation’s character, one built not from sameness, but from diversity. It is the admission that unity does not erase difference, but rather allows it to coexist, creating a tapestry that is richer for its contrasts.

The ancients often spoke of harmony, not as uniformity, but as the blending of many tones. The Greeks knew this in their music: the lyre did not sing with one string, but with many, and it was their balance that gave beauty. So too does Glass, himself a master of musical composition, remind us that a true melting pot is not a bland substance where all flavors dissolve into nothingness, but a living stew, where each piece retains its strength and adds to the whole. The metaphor is playful, but it is also deeply wise: a society that endures is not one where all are made alike, but one where each contributes their unique presence to the greater dish of humanity.

The origin of the phrase “melting pot” is old, reaching back to the playwright Israel Zangwill, whose 1908 drama The Melting Pot described America as the place where nationalities fused into one people. Yet even then, critics pointed out that the image was imperfect. For many who came, their traditions, languages, and faiths did not vanish but endured, reshaping the culture of the land itself. What Glass observes, with the perspective of one who has traveled the world, is that America has evolved—not a pure melting away, but a stew where distinctions remain, even as they contribute to a common nourishment.

Consider the story of New York City, that great harbor where millions of immigrants once arrived. Italians brought their pasta and opera, Jews their traditions and scholarship, Irish their songs and labor, Chinese their cuisine and resilience. Each wave was greeted with suspicion, yet each wave left its mark, until the city itself became a mirror of the globe. The pizza, the jazz club, the Chinese lantern festival, the synagogue, the cathedral—all coexist, not as fragments but as ingredients in one grand dish. This is the living truth of the “chunky stew” that Glass describes.

The meaning of the quote is thus twofold: first, that America remains a place of gathering for many peoples, even in a world of growing walls and divisions; and second, that the vision of unity has changed. It is no longer about losing one’s identity to become identical, but about learning to live together, each keeping their uniqueness while finding a way to share the same pot. This is a vision not of assimilation, but of symphony.

Yet there is also warning in the metaphor. A stew must be tended, stirred, balanced. If ignored, it separates; if neglected, it spoils. So too does a nation of many peoples require care—justice, respect, and the constant tending of compassion. Without these, the stew turns bitter, and its strength is lost. Glass’s words, though light in tone, remind us of a heavy truth: diversity alone is not enough; it must be accompanied by the work of harmony.

The lesson for us, then, is both practical and profound. Whether in America or in any community of many voices, cherish diversity not as a burden but as strength. Listen to the accents of others, honor their foods, learn their songs, and share your own. Do not demand that they dissolve into sameness; instead, welcome their presence as seasoning in the stew of humanity. And in your own life, seek to be an ingredient worth adding—flavorful, nourishing, generous.

Thus let this teaching be remembered: a nation, like a song,