How Could an Atheist Convert to Christianity?

Last time I made the claim that atheists, once they are well-informed about the arguments pro and con Christianity, are stuck there. Intellectual arguments can’t budge them. This is more than just a curious observation; I see it as an argument that atheism is the best intellectual conclusion.
Let’s test this argument with the examples of several high-profile ex-atheists. We can start with prominent atheist philosopher Antony Flew, who converted to deism in 2004 at age 81. The story caused a stir, with atheists fearing that apologists had blindsided a vulnerable old man with unfamiliar new arguments.
Flew wrote the argument supporting his conversion in There is A God: How the World’s Most Notorious Atheist Changed his Mind in 2007. I say that Flew wrote it, but there’s little evidence to that it was actually him. In the first place, Roy Varghese’s name is on the cover as the coauthor. In the second, the book summarizes Flew’s position in a clumsy first-person account, written not as he would have written it, but as any of us might have done as a research paper, quoting passages from Flew’s own writings to summarize his previous position. An example:

In my new introduction to the 2005 edition of God and Philosophy, I said, “I am myself delighted to be assured …”

(from p. 123 of the 2007 HarperOne edition).
Why would Flew quote himself instead of just saying it? Looks like the work of a ghost writer.
The book summarizes the scientific arguments that Flew says were convincing—the same old arguments popular with lots of apologists today—but there’s little reason to imagine that he was competent to evaluate them. In one interview (video) he claims no scientific expertise in a vague appeal to the Argument from Complexity. Flew has made important contributions to philosophical atheism, but I see no reason to imagine that he was ever well informed about apologetic arguments.
(An aside: it is noteworthy that he found deist arguments compelling and so became a deist. Too often, Christians make a case built solely on deist arguments—the Design Argument, the Moral Argument, and so on—without acknowledging that they are making a case for deism, not Christianity.)
I understand the buzz about Flew’s conversion. An ex-atheist saying, “atheism is false” is much more compelling than a Christian doing so. A recent New York Times article argues that the intuitive approach to changing beliefs by providing clear and compelling information from the other side only hardens the existing belief. The problem is “biased assimilation,” where we presume incoming information is valid only when it supports our existing opinions.
If an outsider won’t be trusted, the solution is to supply correct information from an unimpeachable source. That is, find someone trusted in the target community who, unlike the rest of that community, is giving the new information. This person would be a defector, like the three ex-atheists we’ll consider here. That’s why these stories are so newsworthy.
Richard Morgan is case study #2. A prolific contributor to the Richard Dawkins discussion forum, he made waves when he became a Christian in 2008 (find interviews at Apologetics 315 and Unbelievable).
He followed the LDS church early in life but later rejected it. He was delighted to discover Dawkins’ writings and hung out at the Richard Dawkins site. The anti-Christian vitriol shocked him, but, eager for acceptance by the community, he tried to fit in. That slowly changed after David Robertson, the Christian author of The Dawkins Letters, showed up on the site to defend his attack on Dawkins’ The God Delusion. Robertson was polite and dogged, despite the insults, and Morgan was impressed. When the character assassination by fellow atheists became too much, he defended Robertson, was attacked himself, and finally left.
(An aside: this is a lesson worth dwelling on. In a society where battle-scarred or traumatized atheists find respite from Christian culture in a forum, it’s understandable that they might vent. But when the forum is public, politeness counts. Your cutting remark may be the straw that breaks the camel’s back and becomes the anecdote that someone always returns to when thinking about your community.)
Free from his old community but still an atheist, Morgan contacted author David Robertson. Robertson challenged him by asking what would make him believe, and the answer came to mind immediately: “Certainly not reason and science.” That is, he realized that he had no use for the intellectual arguments he had spent years honing.
In that instant, he says the words “We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19) popped into his mind. It was an epiphany, and he remembers not only the date but the minute of that day in 2008. He had returned to Christianity.
(I mused earlier about satori being only for Buddhists. Looks like I was hasty.)
Morgan makes clear that his conversion wasn’t based on reason or intellectual arguments.

I still understand the same philosophical arguments against the existence of God. I’m still aware of what’s supposed to be the scientific proofs against God, but it’s as if there’s an added perception being put into my mind to see beyond that and to see how limited and inadequate all these explanations are.

And to an imagined atheist, he says:

This wonderful argument you’ve just written about explaining how God can’t exist, I know it so well I’ve used it a dozen times myself. But it’s not true. There’s more to it than that.

Morgan claims to have been a well-informed atheist, and I’m convinced. But he gives absolutely no reason to follow him on this path. Epiphanies don’t happen on demand, and I couldn’t follow him if I wanted to.
Let me clarify that I’m not concerned about a mass exodus from atheism. I care about the truth, not atheism, and would happily abandon atheism if I found it to be false. I’m simply underscoring that this is not an argument for Christianity.
With Richard Morgan, we have an example of a well-informed atheist who became a Christian. That’s interesting, but it’s nothing more than that.
Our final case study will be Leah Libresco, a fellow Patheos blogger (at Unequally Yoked). Immersed in a Catholic environment, she seemed to find the center of gravity of her moral philosophy gradually move from atheism to Catholicism. It was as if the vocabulary available within atheism was inadequate, with Catholicism much better able to express reality.
In an interview, Hemant Mehta (the Friendly Atheist) pointed out that Leah’s conversion hasn’t led to a flood of other conversions (or perhaps any). Like Richard Morgan’s conversion four years earlier, there are no new insights or arguments to which an atheist might say, “Oh, that’s interesting; I need to think about that” as the first step toward Christianity.
These are three bona fide conversions away from atheism. From different atheist communities, they show that smart atheists can reject the non-faith. This may help tone down atheist smugness, but none of these conversions provides new reasons that atheists can use to challenge their nonbelief.
This (admittedly limited) survey was meant to test the hypothesis that well-informed atheists never change because of intellectual reasons. I think the hypothesis stands.

If I knew that a man was coming to my house
with the conscious design of doing me good,
I should run for my life.
— Henry David Thoreau

“I Used to be an Atheist, Just Like You”

I can believe that you used to be an atheist. An atheist is simply someone without a god belief. It’s the “just like you” part that I’m having trouble with.
Lots of Christian apologists introduce themselves as former atheists. Lee Strobel, for example, often begins presentations with a summary of his decadent, angry atheist past. The implied message is that people like me convert to Christianity all the time. With the ongoing prayer experiment, I want to revisit this question and make a few changes.
Here is my original argument. First, consider three groups of people.
Group 1. Christians are here.
Group 2. The atheists need two groups. People in Group 2 are technically atheists because they don’t have a god belief, but they don’t know much about arguments in favor of Christianity, rebuttals to those arguments, or arguments in favor of atheism. Nothing wrong with that, of course—the God question doesn’t interest everyone—but they’re not well informed about atheism.
Group 3. These are the well-informed atheists. They understand both sides of the ontological, teleological, cosmological, transcendental, fine-tuning, and moral arguments and more. They are at least well-educated amateurs on evolution, evolution denial, and the Big Bang. They can make positive arguments for atheism, not just rebut Christian apologetics. And so on. I put myself into this group.
For each of these groups, how likely is it for people in these groups to be argued into the opposite camp?
Group 1, Christians. Lots of Christians have deconverted: Rich Lyons from the Living After Faith podcast. Matt Dillahunty of the Atheist Community of Austin. Dan Barker of the Freedom From Religion Foundation. Bob Price, the Bible Geek. Bart Ehrman, author of Misquoting Jesus. The hundreds of pastors in the Clergy Project.
They’re now all in Group 3, and they’re particularly interesting because they were very well informed Christians. Education turned them away from Christianity.
Group 2, Uninformed Atheists. Many in this group have converted to Christianity. This sounds like the group that the imagined former-atheist-now-Christian came from.
Group 3, Well-Informed Atheists. But here’s my point: I’ve never heard of anyone in Group 3, the well-informed atheists, who converted to Christianity because of intellectual arguments. Of course, this makes me vulnerable to the No True Scotsman fallacy—rejecting any counterexample with, “Oh, well that guy wasn’t truly a well-informed atheist”—but I invite you to comment with anyone I’ve omitted.
Well-informed Christians deconvert to atheism (and are happy to explain, using reason, why they left), but well-informed atheists don’t convert to Christianity through reason. More education about the history and origins of Christianity increases the likelihood that the Christian will deconvert, but more education increases the likelihood that the atheist will stay put.
This is an asymmetry that I don’t think apologists appreciate. Becoming a well-informed atheist is a one-way street. It’s a ratchet; it’s a gravity well. Once you become a well-informed atheist, you’re stuck. (What about conversion through non-intellectual reasons? Let’s set that aside for the moment.)
Here’s why I argue that no well-informed atheists convert to Christianity through intellectual arguments. By their fruit, you would recognize them.
Well-informed atheists, now Christians, wouldn’t make the arguments that apologists make. They wouldn’t make arguments to which I have a quick rebuttal. Indeed, they would focus on those arguments which they knew (since they’d been just like me) I had no response to.
These former atheists would know all the secret passwords and trap doors to get into my secret atheist lair, and, as Christians, they would walk back in and blow it up. But we never see this. Christians are still making the same old arguments, banging on the atheist stronghold with a rock hammer. I never see an “ex-atheist” who hits me where I live, who explains why my arguments are wrong from my perspective.
Next time: Let’s take a look at some prominent atheists who have become Christians. Do they disprove this argument?

Of all tyrannies
a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims
may be the most oppressive.
It may be better to live under robber barons
than under omnipotent moral busybodies.
The robber baron’s cruelty may sometimes sleep …
but those who torment us for own good 
will torment us without end,
for they do so with the approval of their own conscience.
— C.S. Lewis

(This is a modified version of a post originally published 10/5/11.)
Photo credit: Wikimedia

Friend Request from Jesus?

It’s surprising how much can go through your mind in three minutes. Here are some of the thoughts that came to me in my three minutes of daily prayer during Week 2 of the Atheist Prayer Experiment.
What if God’s persona is like an ordinary guy, like George Burns in Oh, God? … Please show yourself; please show yourself; please show yourself … Maybe the right metaphor is of an antenna trying to pull in a weak signal … If God exists, my brain is to be used, not set aside so I can accept nonsense … It’s hot in here … Maybe God will paint something interesting in phosphenes in my closed eyes … Why in Buddhism is there the Aha! of satori, but it doesn’t work that way in Christianity? … This is a chore … Why do people look up when they pray? God is like neutrinos; you face him just as much when looking down at the earth as up at the sky. … The gulf between me and a molecule might be about as vast as between God and me, so why should God care? … Hey—am I talking to myself here?? … Maybe God answering my prayer would feel like sticking a fork into an electric outlet.
One time I let the local church group prayer (I’ve been attending a small group once a week for a couple of months) be my prayer one day. Small group prayers are lo-o-o-ong.
One time I was in an agitated mood—I’d been arguing online about God and genocide—and it occurred to me that I’m praying to this guy. Do I actually want him to notice me? That sounds like poking a mean genie.
One time I prayed while driving and asked God to direct my attention to anything significant. Almost immediately, I saw a church-shaped house with a string of Tibetan Buddhist prayer flags. What was the message behind that?
A nice discovery was that praying (or at least being meditative) while driving made me feel substantially nicer. I took it as an opportunity to be calmer, stop early at yellow lights, draw wisdom from the bumper stickers of nearby cars, and telegraph well wishes to the people I saw around me. I felt gratitude for hearing a favorite song. I saw a panhandler and reminded myself to be nonjudgmental.
I need more of that after the experiment is over.
I’ve received a lot of comments on the experiment. One person suggested singing the prayer.
Another noted that, as a Christian with waning faith, she prayed for God to show himself. She desperately wanted to keep her faith, but God didn’t oblige. So now I’m trying the same thing, but if God didn’t much care about someone already in the fold (someone who really wanted this), why should he care about my unenthusiastic prayer?
Other bloggers have weighed in. In a rare and noteworthy moment of concord, atheist PZ Myers thinks the experiment is a stupid idea, and Catholic Mark Shea agrees.
I’ve gotten more support from Dwight Longenecker and Elizabeth Scalia, and Rebecca Hamilton says that she’s warmed to the idea. (Okay—Rebecca says that it wasn’t her but God who pushed her in that direction, but let’s not ruin this moment of harmony.)
Leah Libresco suggested the Litany of Tarski, a prayer template that can be adapted to say:

If there is a god, I desire to believe there is a god.
If there is not a god, I desire to believe there is not a god.
Let me not become attached to belief I do not want.

Nice. That’s a sentiment that I can get behind.
Let me relate one more outside conversation. Justin Brierley, the organizer of this crazy experiment, asked what it would take to convince any of the atheist subjects that our prayer had been answered—that the supernatural had made itself known to us.
That’s a good question, because a lot of what a Christian would point to, I might chalk up as coincidence or dismiss for some other reason. How do I keep myself honest and ensure that I don’t discard the signal with the noise?
On the other hand, how do I trust myself to perceive the supernatural correctly? The human mind is unreliable—confident memories aren’t necessarily accurate, we imagine patterns where they don’t exist, we’re subject to mental biases, we’re tricked by optical illusions, neurosis or psychosis can appear, and so on. Is that God talking to me or just me?
Science gets around this problem by using a community to duplicate and validate its findings. There are too many excuses I could make if the experience were all my own, so I’d want to crowdsource it in the same way. Have God speak to everyone. For example, maybe the entire world has the same spiritual dream where God gives them instructions or insights, or maybe we see “YHWH” spelled out in stars. That is the kind of evidence I’d like to see—something where I have some corroboration that it is valid.
This still isn’t perfect, and “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.” Sufficient-advanced aliens could dupe us into imagining the supernatural when we were just seeing technology. Still, this would be a lot more evidence than we’ve seen to date.
This points to what I think is Christianity’s biggest challenge. Thoughtful Christians often say that it’s the Problem of Evil (why would a good god allow so much bad in the world?). But no, I think it’s the one that hobbles this experiment: the Problem of Divine Hiddenness. If an omnipotent God exists and wants us to know him, what’s stopping him? Why is the existence of God not as obvious as that of the sun?

I find [praying] really difficult,
like being told to push very hard on a nonexistent wall.
I have some sympathy for mimes.
— a participant in the Atheist Prayer Experiment

Photo credit: Church Sign Maker

Don’t Move the Goalposts, Again

Christian apologists often bring up unresolved scientific questions and usually conclude with, “Well, if you can’t answer that question, Christianity can! Clearly, God did it.”
Consider questions like: Why is there something rather than nothing? What came before the Big Bang? Why does the universe look fine-tuned for life? How did life come from nonlife?
If you can’t answer those, the Christian can.
Admittedly, there is no scientific consensus on these questions. But a century ago, Christian apologists pointed to different questions if they wanted to put science in the hot seat: Okay, Science, if you’re so smart, how could heredity be transmitted from just one tiny cell? What causes cancer? Where did the universe come from?
And centuries before that, the questions were: What causes lightning? Plague? Drought? Earthquakes? It used these questions to argue that Christianity had answers that science didn’t.
But not only is science the sole discipline that has ever provided answers to questions like these, increasingly only science can uncover the questions. That is, the apologist pretends to inform science of questions that science discovered itself.
If in hindsight “God did it” was a foolish response to the questions of previous centuries—the cause of lightning and disease, for example—why offer it now? Why expect the results to be any different? Wouldn’t it be wise to learn from the past and be a little hesitant to stake God’s existence on the gamble that science will finally come up short?
What’s especially maddening is science-y apologists like William Lane Craig putting on an imaginary lab coat and ineptly fiddling with beakers and turning dials, playing scientist like a child playing house. He imagines himself strutting into a community of befuddled scientists and saying with a chuckle, “Okay, fellas, Christianity can take it from here” and seeing them breathe a sigh of relief that the cavalry has finally come to bail them out of their intellectual predicament. He imagines that he can better answer questions that his discipline couldn’t even formulate.
This reminds me of the fable about Science scaling the highest peak of knowledge. After much difficulty, Science finally summits and is about to plant his flag when he looks over and sees Theology and Philosophy sitting there, looking at him. “What took you so long?” one of them says. “We’ve been here for centuries.”
Uh, yeah, Theology and Philosophy can invent claims, but Science does it the hard way—it actually uncovers the facts and makes the testable hypotheses. It gets to the summit step by careful step along the route of Evidence rather than floating there on a lavender cloud of imagination and wishful thinking. Religion is like the dog that walks under the ox and thinks that he is pulling the cart.
To the Christian who thinks that science’s unanswered questions make his point, I say: make a commitment. Publicly state that this issue (pick something—abiogenesis or the cause of the Big Bang or fine tuning or whatever) is the hill that you will fight to the death on. Man up, commit to it, and impose consequences. Say, “I publicly declare that God must be the resolution to this question. A scientific consensus will never find me wrong or else I will drop my faith.”
If the Christian fails to do this (or rather, when he fails to do this), he then admits that when his celebrated question du jour is resolved, he’ll discard it like a used tissue and find another in science’s long list of unanswered questions. He admits that his argument devolves to, “Science has unanswered questions; therefore, God.” He admits that this is just a rhetorical device, stated only for show, rather than being a serious argument.
He’ll just move the goalposts. Again.

In science it often happens that scientists say,
“You know that’s a really good argument; my position is mistaken,”
and then they actually change their minds
and you never hear that old view from them again.
They really do it.
It doesn’t happen as often as it should,
because scientists are human and change is sometimes painful.
But it happens every day.
I cannot recall the last time something like that
happened in politics or religion.
— Carl Sagan, 1987 CSICOP keynote address

(This is a modified version of a post originally published 11/16/11.)
Photo credit: George Hoffman

Public Challenge: Show Me a Miracle

I recently listened to an interview with Dr. Gary Habermas on the “Christian Meets World” podcast. Habermas talked excitedly about the evidence for miracles. He claimed that eight million Americans have had near-death experiences. And if you’re open to this evidence, why not that for the resurrection of Jesus? They’re the same afterlife, after all.
Habermas cited Dr. Craig Keener’s Miracles: The Credibility of the New Testament Accounts (2011), in which are documented hundreds of recent miracle claims. Some miracles have MRI evidence documenting the before and after medical conditions. In one instance a spleen was surgically removed but then reappeared after prayer. He guesses that there are 100 million miracle reports from around the world.
When Habermas debates atheists and brings up this evidence, famous atheists have no comebacks. They’ll handwave but have nothing better than, “Well, people report crazy things.”
These are bold statements. Provocative statements. In fact, I feel a challenge coming on.
I publicly challenge Drs. Keener or Habermas to pick their favorite miracle claim and submit it for public analysis.
Gentlemen: out of the hundreds of claims in this book or the millions of claims worldwide, take your best-evidenced claim for a miracle. This wouldn’t be something that’s a known puzzle for modern science (cancer that went away for no obvious reason, for example) but something that science says can’t happen—maybe an amputated limb that grows back. Forget the hundreds of claims; bring the evidence for just your best one.
I see four possible outcomes of such a public critique.
1. The evidence is not researchable. Not all of the evidence exists or it’s impossible to access, or for some other reason a complete story can’t be put together. Maybe records have been destroyed, red tape prevents them from being accessed, the documentation is written in Turkmen or Quechua or some other inaccessible foreign language, or witnesses are inaccessible or deceased.
2. The evidence crumbles. We have a complete story, but the evidence isn’t sufficiently reliable. We can’t be sure that records weren’t deliberately tampered with or memories haven’t faded. Maybe we have the statement of just one person without corroboration or a claim from someone without the relevant qualifications (a layman making a medical diagnosis, for example). Maybe human error can’t be ruled out (inadvertently putting the x-ray from patient X into the folder for patient Y, for example).
3. We find a plausible natural explanation. That story about the spleen that was removed and then reappeared? Spleens can grow back. Amputated limbs that regrow? There have been such claims—the 1640 “Miracle of Calanda” is one example—but, as Skeptoid has shown, natural explanations are sufficient to explain the evidence for this claim. Prayer that stopped an epidemic? As I reported a few months ago (“Claims that Prayer Cures Disease”), the epidemic had run its course by the time prayer started.
Any plausible natural explanation defeats the miracle claim.
4. We have a complete case, and natural explanations are less plausible than a miraculous explanation. This is the happy outcome that Habermas expects.
After public analysis of the Best Claim, I predict that we would see outcome 1, 2, or 3. And once we do, my next prediction is that Messrs. K. and H. will drop that claim like a used tissue and burrow through their files for another one.
Lather, rinse, repeat. Over and over. “Oh, you don’t like that claim? Not a problem—I got plenty more.”
As with UFO sightings, lots of crappy evidence doesn’t equal a little good evidence. It’s just a big pile of crappy evidence.
Gentlemen, may I encourage you to respond to my challenge? You know how to reach me.

Messrs. K. and H. assure the public
their production will be second to none.
— The Beatles, “Being For The Benefit Of Mr Kite”

The Prayer Experiment, Week 1

It’s been seven days. Since seven is the number of completion, I’d like to review how Week 1 of the Atheist Prayer Experiment has gone since I started.
I’ve been keeping a diary in which I’ve jotted the thoughts that came to mind during each prayer. There’s little to report, though the experienced Christians may be amused at my inexperienced approach.
It’s tough to stay focused, and items from my to-do list often float by … a TV in the next room is distracting … I prayed while driving to a church small group meeting, and it made me a more considerate driver … how is simply making myself open to the Deity’s input different from making a specific request? … What if someone saw me—would I be embarrassed? … I imagine calling out to the man in the dark room (from Mawson’s paper).
I’ve been trying to avoid criticisms of the process of prayer itself. I’ve posted about that before and have more to say, but this isn’t the place.
My original post has gotten a lot of comments, and many are from people who object to the entire experiment. What’s been a little surprising are the negative comments from Christians. Do they not know that a Christian organization is behind this? Are they anticipating no conversions and trying to downplay the quality of the experiment so they can tell us, “I told you so” when nothing happens?
They may be jumping the gun. Organizer Justin Brierley (“Atheist Prayer Experiment – Day 4 Update”) reported that one of the participants dropped out because the very act of researching the experiment made her conclude that, “I need Christ in my life.”
About 70 atheists are participating. As an actual scientific experiment, I’ll agree with most of the criticisms raised. But still—could a Christian ask for anything more? Given that I can’t say, “Father, I believe; help my unbelief,” what would a Christian propose instead? From the Christian standpoint, this sounds a lot better than any practical alternative.
The experiment is more than just praying. It asks participants to remain “as open as possible to ways in which that prayer could be answered.” The closest I’ve come was on Day 5, where I was working with a volunteer team at a local Boys and Girls Club. When I came home, I realized that I’d lost my red plastic “Good Without God” wristband that I’ve worn continuously for a couple of years.
Hmm—was God telling me something? But if so, what was it?
Maybe God was saying, “You can’t be good without God!” Maybe he was saying, “That’s what you get for helping a worthy organization! Do it again and I’ll punish you worse.” Maybe this was a general caution to be more attentive to my surroundings so that I don’t lose things like this again.
Even if this was a divine action, we haven’t established that this was the work of the Christian god, and an action as vague as this might mean different things coming from different deities. For example, red in Hinduism is associated with Lakshmi, the goddess of wealth and beauty. If she did this, maybe the message was, “Thank you for the red wristband. You will be rewarded.” And so on.
Interpretation is in the eye of the beholder. I’m not satisfied with finding a pleasing interpretation and running with it. Most intellectually appealing is the option that there is no supernatural message at all.
This reminds me of the numerology behind the predictions of our old friend Harold Camping (I’ve written about Brother Camping here and here). He concluded that the time from Jesus’s death until the beginning of Armageddon on May 21, 2011 (oops!) was 722,500 days. But 722,500 factors nicely into 5² × 10² × 17². Jumping into the highly accurate (or completely nonsensical, depending on the authority) science of numerology, 5 = atonement, 10 = completion, and 17 = heaven. So May 21 was the day of (Atonement × Completeness × Heaven) squared. Pretty cool, eh?
But even if you’re on board with Camping’s nutty project, how do you interpret this curious factorization? How about: Since Jesus atoned for everyone’s sin, and the human project is now completed, welcome into heaven, everyone! Why is this any worse than whatever Camping imagines?
And who’s to say what these numbers mean? Why doesn’t the 5 bring to mind the number of stones David picked up before he battled Goliath and suggest his doubt that God was going to help him? Why doesn’t 10 refer to plagues?
I’d rather stay on firm ground. I’ll leave the interpretations to the Jungians and the Tarot readers.
As a parting thought, let me share Mr. Deity’s admission that he doesn’t answer prayer.

Look—if somebody prays to me and things go well, who gets the credit? Me, right? But if they pray to me and things don’t go well, who gets the blame? Not me!
So it’s all good. I’m going to mess with that by stepping in? Putting my nose where it doesn’t belong?

Good deeds are the best prayer
— Serbian proverb

Photo credit: Wikimedia