Alexander Christian
Ellen Ripley stands out from the ordinary, stereotypical women in horror and science fiction movies up until the release of Alien in 1979. Novelist and film critic John Scalzi rightly describes her as “pushy, aggressive, rude, injured, suffering from post‐traumatic syndrome, not wearing makeup, tired, smart, maternal, angry, empathetic, and determined to save others, even at great cost to herself.”1 This realistic depiction of a human being trying to survive under gruesome circumstances differs dramatically from other female characters in popular science fiction, who depend on strong, independent, and notably male characters. Think, for example, of Lt. Uhura in Star Trek, who seems to be on telephone duty during her entire service on the Enterprise. Although a bridge officer, she’s depicted as little more than a space secretary whose job it is to answer urgent phone calls from Starfleet Headquarters in service to Kirk, an inveterate womanizer. Things hadn’t changed much in science fiction a decade later when Alien was released. So, against this background, Ripley stands out as a feminist archetype.2
In fact, it isn’t hard to interpret Ripley’s fight against the Xenomorphs as a metaphor for the feminist struggle against sexual violence directed at women, or to see her actions as violent opposition to those who would deny her sexual self‐determination. Beyond that, Ripley shows a great deal of care for humans (like the orphan Newt, on LV‐426) as well as nonhumans (like Jonesy the cat) in need of protection. Confronting military personnel and stooges of the Weyland‐Yutani Corporation, Ripley pleads for those who are particularly vulnerable to decisions driven by militaristic or economic interests. Ripley’s ethical code appears compatible with the view of morality found in works by feminist philosophers like Virginia Held, Nel Noddings, and Joan Tronto. But, as we’ll see, Ripley’s ethical code can’t be treated as straightforwardly feminist ethics of care.3
Feminism in philosophy is the lasting effect of a larger political, social, and cultural movement. As a political movement, feminism aims to establish a just society with equal rights for women.4 Today, traditional ways of doing philosophy also include a feminist perspective—for example, analytical feminism, continental feminism, and psychoanalytic feminism.5 These all criticize the unequal rights and opportunities for women that have resulted from gender stereotypes institutionalized in societies all over the world. Their second unifying feature is a research program that pays special attention to gender issues, like female‐associated character traits in moral decision‐making and the elimination of gender‐based biases in science.
In ethics, feminism is primarily represented by care‐focused and status‐oriented approaches. Proponents of care‐focused approaches observe that women have a special way of moral reasoning, whereas status‐oriented thinkers seek to overcome gender‐based inequalities and unjust social relationships through criticizing status differences between men and women, like stereotypes and differences in pay for the same work. Two brief examples from Aliens illustrate the difference between these approaches. A care‐focused feminist would be interested in why Ripley cares for the orphan Newt and might suggest that Ripley’s diligent devotion is a result of her maternal instincts, which lead her to consider the orphan’s needs alongside her own wishes. Rescuing Newt, when this involves great risks for both their lives, could be seen as a paradigmatic example of how women often take care of those in need.
A status‐oriented feminist, on the other hand, might have more to say about a character like Pvt. Jenette Vasquez, a smartgun operator on board the USS Sulaco. A member of the United States Colonial Marines, Vasquez has to cope with gender stereotypes. Rising to the challenge, Vasquez is one of the toughest and most professional soldiers in the battlefield. In addition, she seems more than capable in handling suggestive comments about her gender identity. After hypersleep, Vasquez and Pvt. Mark Drake, with whom she is chummy, warm up with some strength exercises. Pvt. William Hudson comments on her muscular figure, “Hey Vasquez, have you ever been mistaken for a man?” She responds, “No, have you?” A status‐oriented feminist would interpret this exchange as evidence of a society in which women have to overcompensate for stereotypes and adopt physiological as well as psychological characteristics culturally identified as masculine in order to get the acknowledgment and respect of male soldiers.
Now, let’s consider whether Ripley exercises a feminist ethics of care.6 According to Rosemarie Tong and Nancy Williams, perspectives on feminist care ethics share the idea that traditional ethics exhibits an androcentric bias.7 Further, “proponents of feminist care ethics, including Carol Gilligan and Nel Noddings, stress that traditional moral theories, principles, practices, and policies are deficient to the degree they lack, ignore, trivialize, or demean values and virtues culturally associated with women.”8
Carol Gilligan, one of the founders of this movement, developed her ethical standpoint in critical response to Lawrence Kohlberg, whose account of moral development states that people go through six stages of moral development, the highest stage being a “post‐conventional” moral perspective.9 By this he means that a fully developed moral agent is free and self‐governing, and applies universal ethical principles in her moral reasoning. Before reaching this stage, children think about morality on a pre‐conventional level. Here, moral decision‐making emerges from egoistic feelings of obedience and the avoidance of punishment. At the conventional level, adolescents seek conformity and interpersonal accord with peers, and soon after their moral decision‐making relies on authorities and social order. Finally, on a post‐conventional level, adults engage in reasoning according to the moral importance of contracts; some might ultimately apply universal ethical principles to justify their actions.10 The later stages, according to Kohlberg, are typically not reached by most people, and Kohlberg later found that some people even regress to earlier stages.
But Carol Gilligan says that this account of moral development is biased towards a male perspective and favors character traits culturally associated with maleness, like rationality and rule following. In her pioneering contribution to feminist ethics, In a Different Voice, she criticizes Kohlberg for failing to equally represent female ways of dealing with moral dilemmas. Gilligan’s claim is that women often approach moral problems with an emphasis on close relationships and responsibilities towards the particularly vulnerable. In contrast, men tend to aim at settling conflicts between rights holders, and they apply abstract moral principles—like the Kantian categorical imperative. This is an important difference: whereas men tend to embrace the idea of impartiality in their search for just moral solutions, women seem to stress the distinctive features of different moral problems.
This contrast can be illustrated by the moment when Ripley has to decide whether she should open the hatch for Kane, who is infested by an alien parasite. Opening the hatch would involve risk for the crew, because nobody knows whether the alien organism is dangerous or not. But leaving the hatch closed would mean certain death for Kane, a fellow crew member. According to Gilligan, a typical male point of view would be to solve the dilemma with rights and regulations: are there quarantine rules? Do the requirements of these rules override duties of assistance owed to Kane? The female voice would instead call for emphasizing the relationships and informal responsibilities of the crew members. Though male and female moral agents might reach the same conclusion, the way they get there makes the difference. In a professional context, universal regulations might be necessary in order to command a spaceship. But for a feminist care ethicist, morally right decisions sometimes need to be understood as resulting from emotional responses to individuals we’re close to.
Ripley’s defining moment comes when Kane has discovered large eggs containing alien life‐forms in the wreckage of a spacecraft on LV‐426. One of those creatures attacks Kane, burns its way through his helmet with highly corrosive acid, and attaches itself to his face. He is rushed back to the Nostromo by Dallas and Lambert, who ask Ripley for entry through the ship’s hatch:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
LAMBERT:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
Yes, I read you. The answer is negative.
(Ash opens the hatch from inside)
ASH:
The situation seems like a perfect moral dilemma: Ripley has to decide between two mutually exclusive actions, having obligations to do both of them. The crew has a duty to assist Kane, but they also must obey the quarantine rules, in effect to protect them and their mission.
Ripley sees a way to resolve the dilemma at hand. She refers to rules, regulations, and hierarchies of command. She references the reasoning behind quarantine regulations and appeals to these reasons in discussions with Science Officer Ash and Captain Dallas. On two occasions later in the film, this reliance on rules and codes is again addressed. First, she confronts Ash, who is examining the Facehugger, about his unauthorized decision to open the hatch and let Kane inside, thus endangering the whole crew:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
RIPLEY:
ASH:
Later, in a conversation with Captain Dallas, she takes a similar stance:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
RIPLEY:
DALLAS:
In these conversations Ripley doesn’t provide us with any evidence for care‐based moral reasoning. Instead, she exemplifies a type of moral deliberation that leaves no room for personal feelings towards her fellow crew member or care for the injured Kane. In Kohlberg’s terms, she seems to occupy the post‐conventional level of moral reasoning, insofar as she’s able to give an argument in favor of the quarantine procedures as applying to everyone equally. From a feminist standpoint, we might expect her to mediate between the different rights holders and avoid direct and aggressive confrontations with superiors. With the feminist critique of traditional ethics in mind, we could even say that her approach involves atypical female moral reasoning, which lacks the emotional responsiveness presented by feminists as a characteristic feminine approach to moral decision‐making.
In the last scene of Alien, Ripley’s strong identification with her professional role shows itself again when she makes a final entry in the Nostromo’s log. Before entering hypersleep, hoping for rescue while drifting in space, she dictates:
RIPLEY:
Notably, she has no words for her daughter Amanda or her husband. When Ripley is found after drifting in space for fifty‐seven years, the narrative disposition in Aliens is radically different from Ripley’s story in Alien. During her sleep, she’s lost her daughter Amanda and the official investigation initiated by Weyland‐Yutani resulted in the loss of her license as a flight officer. This process also leaves her with a deep mistrust towards the integrity of her former employer. This Schicksalsschlag, or “stroke of fate,” with Ripley losing her private as well as professional identity while she sleeps, suggests that her traumatic experiences might have had an effect on her moral reasoning. There’s evidence for this when Ripley’s maternal feelings develop for an orphan found in the devastated colony on LV‐426.
Deeply traumatized and haunted by nightmares, Ripley agrees to go along with a team of soldiers to investigate the loss of communication with the colony on LV‐426. Although highly skeptical towards the intentions of Carter Burke, a representative of Weyland‐Yutani, she accepts Burke’s offer to become a flight officer and serve as a consultant on the mission. Arriving at LV‐426, they find that almost all the colonists have fallen prey to a Xenomorph infestation. Only Rebecca Jorden, “Newt,” survived the incident. After Ripley lures Newt from her hiding place in a ventilation shaft, the Marines try to interrogate the frightened girl:
GORMAN:
DIETRICH:
GORMAN:
RIPLEY:
GORMAN:
DIETRICH:
GORMAN:
Ripley, though, is able to establish an emotional connection to Newt. She uses quite a different voice than the one we heard in conversations with Dallas and Ash:
RIPLEY:
Try this… (Ripley carefully hands over a cup to Rebecca) …it’s a little hot chocolate.
(Rebecca drinks, staring emotionless)
RIPLEY:
There you go. Oh, that good, huh?
(Ripley cleans Rebecca’s lips with a napkin)
RIPLEY:
Oh, oh, I made a clean spot here. Now I’ve done it, I guess I have to do the whole thing.
(Ripley cleans Rebecca’s whole face)
RIPLEY:
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
RIPLEY:
Is Timmy around here too? Maybe hiding like you were? Any sisters?
(Rebecca slowly shakes her head)
RIPLEY:
Mom and dad?
(Rebecca slowly nods)
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
RIPLEY:
I’m sorry, Newt. Don’t you think you’re safer here with us?
(Rebecca slowly shakes her head)
RIPLEY:
REBECCA:
From the perspective of feminist care ethics, Ripley’s way of handling the situation can be seen as an example of women’s disposition to care for those in need and to use inclusive and empathic language, while men like Gorman appeal to obligations and verbalize them harshly (“Now think, Rebecca, concentrate! Just start at the beginning, where are your parents? Now look, Rebecca, you have to try and help…”). Ripley’s changed voice works when the male way of reasoning and speaking fails to address the traumatized child’s need.
One might object that Ripley’s care for Newt should not be interpreted in feminist terms, since there’s no real moral dilemma here. But such a concern can be met by looking at Ripley’s later efforts to escape with Newt from the colony. Before leaving Hadley’s Hope, Newt was taken by a Xenomorph to the hive and Ripley—without a moment of hesitation—rescued her. Here we can find a genuine moral dilemma: if Ripley rescues Newt, then she endangers her own life and possibly the lives of others, and if she leaves Newt in the hive, then the orphan’s death is only a matter of time. Ripley’s decision might be influenced by her emotional bond with Newt—her motherly feelings for the girl—and a refusal to lose another child, but this does not diminish the momentousness of her moral decision, nor does it count against a feminist interpretation of her decisions. Rather, it speaks in favor of the idea that Ripley’s moral calculus in this context exhibits features of feminist care ethics.
So far we’ve considered the idea that Ripley’s behavior could be understood in terms of a feminist ethics of care, but how crucial is the example of her interaction with Newt for understanding Ripley’s way of moral thinking? Is her selfless behavior on LV‐426 evidence enough to classify her moral calculus as through and through feminist?
After the escape from LV‐426, the USS Sulaco ejects the cryo tubes of the four survivors (Ripley, Newt, Corporal Hicks, and Bishop) because of an electrical defect. The escape pod crashes near the penal colony Fiorina (“Fury”) 161 with Ripley as the sole survivor. The inmates of Fury 161 are murderers and rapists—so, not exactly a holiday resort! With Newt drowned in her cryo tube and Hicks impaled by a fragment of the escape pod, Ripley yet again suffers the loss of everyone close to her. Even worse, she discovers that she’s not only impregnated with a Xenomorph embryo that sooner or later will burst through her chest, but another Xenomorph also starts to decimate the prison’s population.
Against all odds and with many casualties among the inmates, the prisoners and Ripley manage to capture the alien and later discover that Weyland‐Yutani wants to take the specimen into possession. In a short conversation with Dillon, the religious leader of the inmates, Ripley explains her reasons for killing the alien before the arrival of a Weyland‐Yutani taskforce:
DILLON:
RIPLEY:
DILLON:
RIPLEY:
DILLON:
RIPLEY:
DILLON:
RIPLEY:
DILLON:
RIPLEY:
DILLON:
Here, Ripley does not appeal to professional standards, as in the conversations with Dallas and Ash, nor does she appeal to moral reasoning based on a close and empathic relationship to an individual, like Newt. Instead, she refers to the welfare of an abstract class of rights holders—innocent people like the Hadley’s Hope colonists—who might suffer from bioweapons research conducted by Weyland‐Yutani (or, more likely, suffer at the hands of the wily Xenomorph specimen when it escapes). Ripley again operates on a post‐conventional level of morality, considering her social responsibilities. The prospect of an industrial–military complex with control over a Xeno specimen is reason enough for her to even commit suicide by leaping into a furnace filled with molten lead. These decisions reveal that although Ripley is capable of recognizing the interests of those who are particularly vulnerable and in close social proximity, she’s equally dispositioned to extend her moral calculus, in order to take into account the needs of a larger and anonymous group of individuals.
Our initial question was whether Ripley’s moral thinking can be called feminist. Only on one occasion does Ripley use moral reasoning that could be interpreted in terms of a feminist ethics of care, namely, when she emotionally bonds with Newt in Hadley’s Hope and flees with her from LV‐426. The feminist interpretation makes sense there, because this takes place against a background familiar from feminist criticisms of male‐oriented societies, in which women are forced to accept responsibility for those who are particularly vulnerable. Also, Ripley’s way of relating to Newt exemplifies caring behavioral dispositions, which feminists associate with the female moral reasoning.
Nonetheless, there is not quite enough to substantiate the claim that Ripley’s ethics are properly understood in care feminist terms. In many other situations, Ripley invokes impartiality, professional standards, and general social responsibilities in her moral reasoning. Even after losing her professional status, her ethical decision‐making does not, for the most part, depend upon care feminist values or a supposedly feminine attention to empathic communication, nor is it oriented toward gender issues in general.
From the feminist viewpoint, Ripley appears to be an atypical woman who only occasionally refers to care‐based reasoning; she otherwise applies a moral calculus that aligns with a high level of reflection and abstraction on Kohlberg’s scale. Maybe this is why Ripley is appealing to the viewer: she is at the same time a professional, a mother, and someone who cares.