Within 24 hours of Elijah Marsh’s distressing death, $120,000 had been given to an online fundraiser launched by a stranger to pay for his funeral. Within days, thousands of donors had pushed the total to more than $173,000 — nearly eight times the original goal of $20,000, and far more than will be needed for a memorial.

The family responded with humble grace and gratitude, saying they’d felt supported and loved through the outpouring of public sympathy after losing their 3-year-old boy, who will be buried Saturday.

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Toronto rallied. Canadians rallied. People everywhere did what they could — they gave. Their “flash philanthropy” now prompts uncomfortable questions: What will happen to all this money? What should happen to it?

Justin Kozuch, who set up the fundraiser on Tilt, told the Star in an email that he “would love to see a scholarship or a grant be established in Elijah’s name, or a donation to a community organization,” but will leave it to the family to decide.

"We could have simply turned off the campaign when we reached that goal (of $20,000),” Kozuch explained. “However, I wanted to ensure that everyone who wanted to make a donation had the opportunity to do so."

What to do with such generosity is, perhaps, a unique question in the age of social media. “Crowdfunding,” before it got the name, was once a more personal, face-to-face process, carried out by churches or neighbours or community groups, and typically with a kind of discretion, sensitivity, trust — and perhaps proportionality — that online campaigns can lack.

Online crowdfunding has rapidly become a refuge for public mourning following tragic events. Whether they befall individuals, like Elijah, or millions of people — like 2013’s Typhoon Haiyan in the Philippines — these incidents spur a collective grief now seems to gravitate into the public square.

“It’s flash philanthropy,” said Michael Johnston, one of the earliest innovators in online fundraising. “It’s not rational giving. It’s more emotional. People just say: ‘Oh, my God.’”

Johnston, the founder and president of HJC, a global fundraising consulting firm, did his first online campaign with the Body Shop in the UK in 1995. Charities were early adopters of online fundraising, and studies show that people give between 40 and 100 per cent more when they donate online.

“Instead of $25, it’s often $40 or $50 … That has held true, but no one’s been able to explain why,” said Johnston. “There are lots of possible explanations: it’s easier than writing a cheque and putting it in the mail. You’re also choosing how to spend your money; there’s no telephone pressure.”

Johnston consults with political parties as well, harnessing the well-documented Barack Obama strategy of raising millions through small individual contributions. When political donation limits forced parties to abandon large individual donors in favour of as many small contributions as possible, crowdfunding was the obvious solution, he said.

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Digital fundraising didn’t turn into a real powerhouse, however, until the arrival of social media. Whether it’s the Ice Bucket Challenge to raise money for ALS research or Movember’s mustache-growing contest for prostate cancer, online charity campaigns are going viral.

“I think where there was once a great focus on the ‘funding’ of crowdfunding, there is now a keen interest in — and recognition of the value of — the ‘crowd,’ said Alexandra Stiver, a PhD candidate at the Open University in London, England, and one of the few academics to study crowdfunding.

“People increasingly recognize that there is great value in the process beyond simply funding,” she wrote in an email. “Across our research, we see backers not just financially invested, but emotionally invested; ‘the’ project becomes ‘our’ project.”

When campaigns gain rapid notoriety, they can spin out of control, as happened with Kony 2012, an online video campaign to pressure world leaders to end the decades-old Lord’s Resistance Army insurgency in east Africa. Shortly after the movie was watched 100 million times, the film faced to a strong backlash and director Jason Russell suffered a breakdown.

The surfeit of generosity toward the Marsh family also raised eyebrows, as forcefully expressed by one online commenter, “Vegas,” who wrote on the Star website: “Obviously $10,000 would provide for an elaborate funeral service which will leave some $140 grand left over. In my view this should NOT go to the family. They should not get a windfall over the loss of a child. That money should go to some charity involving children. Nobody should profit over the death of a child — not even the family.”

CP1976, on the other hand, responded: “Elijah's family has suffered a tremendous loss, and the financial burden does not just affect funeral costs, but loss of employment, bills, medical expenses. I also agree that the excess money raised, outside what would be used to cover the funeral/burial costs, could very well benefit from being put towards a children's charity. But to use the word "profit", I think is a bit out of context. No one is profiting from this. No money in the world will bring Elijah back."

Smaller crowdfunding campaigns can go wrong because they often occur with little oversight, in the heat of the moment. Recently, some members of the family of Eric Garner, who died in the chokehold of an New York police officer last year, say they haven’t received any of the hundreds of thousands of dollars raised online using his name.

This month, James Robertson, a Detroit factory worker whose story of walking more than 20 miles to work every day prompted people to donate more than $350,000 to provide him with a car, had to go into police protection after receiving threats connected to his newfound riches.

Tim Ryan, country manager at Tilt, which hosted the fundraiser for Elijah, says the website uses a two-step verification process to ensure funds end up in the hands of the intended recipient. The first step is automated. Their system checks to make sure that campaigns have links to active Facebook accounts, news articles, and include photos and other signs of legitimacy. Second, staff members at Tilt will contact the campaign organizer and may request photo ID or other documentation.

“No matter how much money is raised, we won’t release the funds unless we’re convinced the money is going where it’s supposed to,” said Ryan.

In a worst-case scenario, Tilt can reverse the payment and recover the funds if fraud is suspected.

“At a global level, you can never truly be 100 per cent sure,” he said.