Between Tavern and Mosque: The Path of Coffee

Which is the way to the tavern, and which to the mosque? For both are forbidden to a wretch like me...

In the tavern, a drunken Imam lies asleep; I know not what that idol’s name might be.

The ruins are my Kaaba this day; My companion is the judge, the cupbearer my priest.

Go, Attar, for he himself knows Who is the master, and who is the lost one.

Which is the way to the tavern, and which to the mosque,

For both are forbidden to a wretch like me anyway,

...In the tavern, the Imam lies in a drunken sleep,

And I know not by what name to call this idol,

Behold, my Kaaba has been laid to ruin today,

My companion is the judge, and the cupbearer is the Imam,

Go, Attar, for only he knows—

Who is the leader, and who is the lost.

(Attar of Nishapur—killed 1221)

From its earliest days in the arid merchant cities of the Hijaz, Islam has maintained a wary stance toward intoxicants. Alcohol, in particular, is viewed with such severity that it is strictly forbidden in almost all cases. Beyond the varying interpretations of scholars across the centuries, the general attitude toward mind-altering substances has remained one of deep suspicion.

The coffee plant (*Coffea spp.*) is a tree native to the highlands of East Africa. Its seeds, the beans we know today, produce the world’s second most consumed beverage. While it is possible that the local populations of the Ethiopian highlands processed these beans in various ways, the historical and archaeological evidence for their use as a beverage remains a matter of debate.

Coffee beans only bubbled up into the light of history when they were carried across the “Gate of Tears,” the maritime strait separating the Horn of Africa from the southern Arabian Peninsula. It is unclear exactly how they first appeared in the markets of Yemen, but many accounts credit the Sufi orders. These mystics, who frequented the Islamic frontiers of the African coast, discovered the bean’s stimulating properties and brought sleeves full of them back across the Red Sea.

It was there in Yemen, among the Shadhili Sufis, that a sophisticated coffee culture likely took root, along with the roasting traditions that transformed the bean into the complex, aromatic beverage we recognize today. The name coffee—*qahwa* in Arabic—originally referred to wine or other alcoholic drinks, but it eventually became synonymous with this fragrant black potion. The Sufis poured it during their long nights of prayer to ward off sleep, using the caffeine to sustain their devotion.

Coffee terraces in Yemen

Coffee lovers. Sufis. (Note: Illustrative photo; these are Afghan Sufis, who generally prefer tea).

The novelty of this new drink, with its devilish hue and the suspicious rituals surrounding its consumption, did not escape the notice of the era’s professional killjoys. Religious and medical authorities were consulted to determine whether coffee was a blessing or an abomination. The controversy grew so intense that the drink was banned in Mecca in 1511, with scholars ruling that the beverage was loathsome and encouraged a rebellious spirit in those who partook.

Despite these prohibitions, coffee’s popularity endured even in the heart of the Islamic world. It was reportedly consumed within the mosque precincts of Mecca and Medina, and no Sufi gathering or *dhikr* was considered complete without coffee cups being passed from hand to hand.

An Arab coffeehouse, Palestine, early 20th century.

Following the trade routes of the Hijaz, coffee lore migrated north toward the Mediterranean. There, too, the roasted seeds found a home in the courtyards of orthodoxy; even Cairo’s Al-Azhar, the prestigious center of Islamic learning, was known as a place where coffee was always brewing.

The dervishes of Egypt and Aleppo further refined the spiritual and ceremonial virtues of the drink, weaving wondrous tales around its origins. It was said that the Angel Gabriel first served coffee to the Prophet Muhammad, and that King Solomon used it to heal a plague-stricken city. While the black drink struck deep roots in Arab culture, it reached its zenith in the magnificent alleys of Istanbul.

Coffee arrived in the heart of the Ottoman Empire on the wings of the Turkish conquests. By the mid-16th century, coffeehouses began to sprout across the capital and throughout Anatolia. As an institution, the coffeehouse offered men a rare space to socialize outside the rigid frameworks of the workplace, the mosque, or the home.

A contemporary miniature captures the full experience of a proper Ottoman coffeehouse:

At the center is an open space, with a cast of peculiar characters from all walks of life seated at the edges. Backgammon players in golden silk rub shoulders with men of the pen and the cloth. They sit beside musicians whose melodies rise above the lively debates of Sufi dervishes discussing the vanities of this world. Chinese porcelain cups, used as both decoration and essential vessels, are served to high-status patrons. Meanwhile, handsome youths flit between the groups, attending to the customers' every need, both overt and discreet.

While this archetypal coffeehouse appears as a layered, legitimate space, it was often a site of intense symbolic and literal tension. In any regulated society, leisure culture is a source of anxiety for the ruler; this is doubly true when it involves men, shadows, and stimulants. The coffeehouse was perceived as a dangerous concoction, both morally and politically. (Women, meanwhile, occupied a parallel social institution: the hammam).

“The coffeehouses are considered houses of error. Coffee was declared unacceptable by the great legal compendiums, which decreed that whatever is burnt is forbidden (*haram*).”

But also:

“Bursa boasts seventy-five coffeehouses frequented by the city’s most educated and refined sons. All the coffeehouses, particularly those near the Great Mosque, are packed with those who master a thousand skills... they have become famous only since Sultan Murad IV closed those of Istanbul.”

(From the chronicles of Evliya Çelebi, 17th century)

The rise of Ottoman leisure culture carved out a third, intermediate space. The coffeehouse fought for its place in a reality supposedly divided between the world of legitimacy and the shadow world of the margins.

Rather than a hermetic separation between religion and the coffeehouse, the two became intertwined. Unlike the taverns and *rakı* houses, which always bore a stigma, the coffeehouse—provided it wasn't a den of vice serving hashish and opium—was a place where even a respectable citizen could feel at home, and perhaps offer shelter under his cloak to those less fortunate.

Ultimately, despite the initial struggles, its seductive aroma and its supernatural effect on the weary soul made coffee a permanent fixture in a culture that, on the surface, remains deeply suspicious of the new and the different.

Between the tavern and the house of prayer, there runs a middle path that connects extremes and contradictions. It is a path for those on their way up and those heading down—the path of coffee.

Mastic Coffee—Istanbul 2017