An offering made from a corrupted state does not rise. The wine poured out no longer pleases, the sacrifice tastes like the bread eaten in a house of mourning, and everyone who touches it is defiled rather than lifted. The form is intact and the substance is dead, because the one who brings it has already turned away inside.
Ritual cannot carry upward what the heart has hollowed out beneath it. A man can perform every motion of devotion and connect to nothing, feeding only himself in the shape of feeding God. The rite goes nowhere. The offering was meant to enter the house and orient him toward the highest thing, and instead it stays with him, spoiling. Go through the sacred gestures while rotten within, and they nourish the rot.