The Reagan Revolution celebrated the individual. And while the “average Joe” was an effective political prop, the narrative required a heroic leader. So as the tide of economic prosperity lifted most boats, in America we increasingly transferred credit for the rise from the laboring masses to the brilliant, opportunistic, or just lucky individuals directing those masses. The void created by a decrease in church attendance and reliance on a superbeing was filled by a modern-day savior: the innovator.

Individualism is embedded in the American story. We celebrate the cowboys who (supposedly) tamed the West, and we revere the inventors and industrialists who (ostensibly) built the country’s commercial might. This idolatry of innovators is most deeply embedded in the culture of technology. It’s an article of faith in tech that success is the result of individual achievement, a mark of grit and genius.

For much of my adult life, this was my own mythology of self, that I’d gone from being the child of a single, working mother to shopping for private jets. Clearly I was self-made. But the truth is that I’m American-made. I benefited from being born in a time and place of unprecedented prosperity with a host of advantages, most of them circumstantial. Endemic to tech culture is the conflation of luck and talent.

There is a unique ecosystem in Silicon Valley, and the human capital it attracts is inspiring. What gets less attention is that the foundation of the Valley was built on government projects. The computer chip, the internet, the mouse, the web browser, and GPS were all midwifed with tax dollars. While the conversion of those technologies into private profits took individual vision, it also took millions of hours of work from thousands of engineers and other wage earners, most of whom were the product of one of the largest government programs we have: public schools.

Similarly, while technologies are neither heroes nor saints, we get seduced by their capabilities and blinded to the risks they present. I published my first book, The Four, in 2017. It began as a love letter to technology and the achievements of the internet era. But the more I studied the companies and people behind all that innovation, the more alarmed I became by their power and reach. At the time, it was a hard sell. Not many people wanted to hear that their new God, Big Tech, might not be concerned with the condition of our souls or take care of us when we’re older. The risks of tech obsession are clearer now.

The nation once idolized astronauts and civil rights leaders who inspired hope and empathy. Now it worships tech innovators who generate billions and move financial markets. We get the heroes we deserve.