I feel you; every philosopher is Frankenstein, robbing the graves of past ideas and putting them together into a new, unrecognizable monster: when Plato's eye appears in a cyclops with Kant's torso, you've done your job.
It takes an ingenious work of making interconnections to assemble the beast. And it requires that spark of electricity, of genius, madness, to make the ideas come alive. It amounts to a sacrifice on the part of the thinker, whose own identity dissipates into a vacuum when his life flips inside out and gets overrun by the ideas that he created, such that the ideas begin to work back on him, shaping a new and (ideal) man, like a sculpture becoming carved out of stone. Existential philosophy posited this motion as the goal of philosophy and of life itself.
Is Frankenstein responsible for the travesties carried out by his beast? I'd say so. But such is the absurdity of mankind's plight: we can only go over by going under; and in that way we will have gone through. We must gracefully accept responsibilities that accompany freedoms; or we will deny ourselves the freedoms as well.
Disorder, a lack of control: is required. OCD people, check out now. Chaos will make its own work of 'your' ideas, you egoists! Let it slide out of your control, let it overrun you. Only then will Sophia de-robe and show you her nature in all its naked glory!