Philosophical Blindness

I knew I would be predisposed to love Middlemarch when I peeked at the introduction and read, in regards to Elliot-as-author:

 “Although her fiction is rarely abstract, it is her profound belief, on the contrary, that the value of an idea must be determined by its consequences to living, breathing human beings-- her novels are always philosophical... Ideas for her were the foundation and the essence of all things” (x, Introduction).

I love philosophical novels. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Crime and Punishment-- big books about God and Sex and Purpose which try to contrast elegant, semantic order to the irrational upheaval of human relationships to make both appear more beautiful. (It also won’t surprise anyone that I strongly identify with Dorothea-- we have similar issues). 
The first sixty pages has a wealth of subtly philosophical images, which stand out to me in eerie prose and parallelism to reveal and deepen some of Elliot’s characters and themes.
First, did anyone think it was funny how much sight came up in this reading? For instance On page 16-17, Mr. Casaubon talks about why he is looking for a reader in the evenings, as an aging scholar:
“I have been using up my eyesight on old characters lately...My mind is something like the ghost of an ancient, wandering about the world and trying mentally to construct it as it used to be...” 
 Dorothea (along with being an excellent reader, is impressed with this and, continuing along the metaphor, internally muses, “...what a work to be in any way present at, to assist in, though only as a lamp-holder!” (17).
The dichotomy of blindness/sight as a metaphor for prophetic wisdom against human hubris has been around since Oedipus Rex, and part of what is so exciting about Middlemarch is that George Elliot knows that and is using it. The question remains for Dorothea, is Casaubon blind in the wise manner of Tiresias, or in the manner of the foolish, fallen king?