As with much else over the past decade, we've come full circle.

Now if a problem arises, alcoholism, addiction, depression, bereavement, or whatever, seeking help is seen as a sign of strength, not weakness.

Except in these heady times, the wheel of evolution does not stop there. It rolls all the way across the Atlantic, bringing us American sensibilities. Today, the threshold of what constitutes a problem appears to have been considerably lowered. Feeling sad? You must be depressed.

Feeling unfulfilled? You haven't achieved your adolescent dreams of wealth, unlike your neighbour. Feeling unhappy?

You should feel happy all the time. Go see somebody to sort yourself out. Get yourself some "wellness". In this twilight zone, therapy collides with mumbo-jumbo.

All of which brings us to that splendid organisation, the Roebuck counselling centre, where your dreams are made real and you re-enter the world lightened of all loads, particularly the weight in your wallet.

For the last week, stories have been dribbling out about how the Rathgar-based centre pressurised people attending for counselling or coaching to part with huge sums of cash.

A pattern emerged. People with serious problems arrived at the centre for help. They were told to hand over 3,300 in advance for a year's counselling, contrary to all therapy guidelines. "People who come to us have real problems, " the centre's director Bernie Purcell said on Liveline last week.

Some who started out on therapy were then encouraged to take part in a "mentoring" programme, a pathway to the realisation of their dreams, conducted by a woman named Claire Hoban. The programme necessitated handing over huge wads of cash . . . up to 250,000 . . . which would be returned if the dreams went unfulfilled within a specified time. Pressure to cough up was applied on these vulnerable people. Many of them, trusting the counsellor who was helping them through the night, bought into the programme. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

Much comment around the case has focused on the exploitation of vulnerable people in what has traditionally been a "caring profession".

This ignores the reality of modern Ireland, where turning a fast buck is the first item on the agenda.

Look at it from an entrepreneurial point of view.

There is no statutory regulation of therapy, opening up vast prairies of the market to hucksters and ensuring that the state can't prevent the spreading of entrepreneurial wings.

Vulnerable people are a captive market. On Tuesday, Bernie Purcell told Joe Duffy that one person "came to us as a consumer, it's a choice".

There speaks the language of the market. Therapists, in Purcell's world, deal with consumers, not clients.

Later on, she said that "in the care business there are always complaints", as if she was referring to problems with food labelling or faulty electrical goods. Then Purcell gave a hint of the nature of her product. "John", she beseeched a dissatisfied consumer on the line, "you were encouraged to dream". Sure, says John. "It was a bad dream, " he replied.

All of this would be fine and dandy if the place advertised itself with a Mystic Meg lookalike surrounded by euro signs and price lists for dreams.

Then people looking for solutions to serious problems, rather than a dream machine, could give it a wide berth. And consumers would be put on notice that part of the therapy involves setting themselves free from the burden of money.

But as things stand, the likes of the Roebuck centre could easily attract, for example, one of the thousands of young males who harbour suicidal thoughts. Anybody can set up as a therapist. There is no definitive way for a potential client to separate the wheat from the chaff, the genuine therapist from the entrepreneur chasing a fast buck. It's a dangerous vacuum and doing a severe disservice to the genuine people working in the field.