 The Movement believes all of the following EXCEPT: Questioning the failings of the old society, failings have put them in the dome; failure of foreign policy (self-containment)
The weatherman was always right: Temperature, 59; humidity, 47%; occasional light showers—but of what? In the ensuing contretemps they emptied his rear pants pockets, got his wristwatch and restored the contents of the handkerchief pocket. It was precipitation peculiar to a dome: feather-light fragments showering harmlessly on the city from time to time. Dome weevils, their metal arms reaching out with molten glass, roamed the huge casserole, ceaselessly patching and repairing. It was this rather than skill that enabled the police to maintain such a tight surveillance on him, a surveillance that went to the extent of getting his fingerprints off the postman's bag, and which photographed, X-rayed and chemically analyzed the contents of his pockets before returning them. Conformity had become more than a social force; it was a physical necessity. He came to see that genuine quirks were rare and, as time went on, due partly to his own small efforts, rarer. After years of searching for differences Lanfierre had seen how extraordinarily repetitious people were, echoes really, dimly resounding echoes, each believing itself whole and separate. "It's like this, MacBride. And if there was a house sitting on such a mountain and if winds did blow, it would shake exactly the way that one does. "You're starting to see flying houses, hear loud babbling voices. You've got winds in your brain, Lanfierre, breezes of fatigue, zephyrs of irrationality—" At that moment, all at once, every last window in the house slammed shut. MacBride and Lanfierre both leaned forward, as if waiting for the ghostly babble of voices to commence. It rocked from side to side, it pitched forward and back, it yawed and dipped and twisted, straining at the mooring of its foundation. It expressed his weariness and distaste for people who went off and got neurotic when they could be enjoying a happy, normal existence. Fownes stopped on the porch to brush the plaster of paris off his shoes. Or, as Fownes hoped it might appear, the illusion of the domed city vanished and was replaced by a more satisfactory, and, for his specific purpose, more functional, illusion. Instead of an orange sun at perpetual high noon, there was a red sun setting brilliantly, marred only by an occasional arcover which left the smell of ozone in the air. The sun and moon both looked down upon a garden that was itself scintillant, composed largely of neon roses.
 The best way to fight those controlling the Dome is collectively, versus individually
 The 'old society' failed in major ways  The 'old society's' failings led to the creation of the Dome  The best way to fight those controlling the Dome is collectively, versus individually  They cannot escape the dome without a strong foreign policy