It is a curious fact that any form of therapy with ‘behaviour’ or ‘behavioural’ in its title seems to attract more critical attention from philosophers, lawyers and journalists than any other type of psychological help in the extensive present-day repertoire – no matter how ill-conceived, and no matter what its track record in empirical research. There are two main reasons for this watchful interest: (1) With anything in which behaviour therapy is a detectable ingredient, what is done is visibly open to inspection and criticism. Its methods are not mysterious; nor are they passed on by means of long initiation ceremonies; nor do the subtleties of such approaches evaporate when exposed to the lens of a video camera. (2) Behavioural methods work well, and even better when they are combined with a cognitive element; they have practical, tangible effects, and anything that succeeds in changing people raises questions. Change for good or ill? Whose idea of change? By what right are people, and their very thoughts, being changed (Masson 1990)? In this sense, the critical clamour that greeted the development of the behaviour therapies, which so irritated aficionados, should really be regarded as a mark of respect. But while the use of methods with a behavioural component certainly does give rise to ethical questions, these are not, by and large, qualitatively different from those that could be raised about any type of therapeutic endeavour. It is the success of these approaches that draws the fire of critics; the fact that the target is in full view which makes it tempting.