Among the components ancient Egyptian religion counted as necessary to a person's survival, the ren, the name, is the one whose logic is most immediately intuitive to a modern reader, even readers with no background in Egyptian religion routinely say that a person "lives on" as long as they are remembered and spoken of, and Egyptian belief made this intuition into a formal religious principle. To be named was to exist; to go unnamed, or to have one's name deliberately erased, was to face a genuine kind of extinction that the physical death of the body alone did not accomplish.
This is why Egyptian tombs and monuments so often include prominent, repeated inscriptions of the owner's name, and why formulae inviting future visitors to speak the name of the deceased aloud appear throughout funerary texts: reading the name out loud was itself understood as an act that sustained the named person, similar in kind to the offerings that sustained the ka. A tomb's inscriptions functioned, in this sense, as a kind of permanent, self-renewing offering, available to be activated by any literate visitor willing to pronounce them, centuries after the person's actual family and priesthood had died out.
Conversely, the deliberate erasure of a name, damnatio memoriae in the vocabulary borrowed from Roman practice, was a serious act of religious violence in Egyptian terms, not merely a political statement. Chiselling a name out of an inscription, or systematically replacing it with another ruler's, was believed to genuinely threaten the erased person's continued existence in the afterlife, which is exactly why later regimes used the technique against rulers, Hatshepsut and Akhenaten among the best documented, whose memory they wished not merely to criticise but to actively unmake.