Indeed. To expand on that a bit more:

The titular phrase is a line in the book, something that Rumata thinks to himself while attempting to explain, for the twentieth, futile, time, to one of the natives (a populist revolutionary leader of sorts) that he is not a god; and that, though he does possess great and awesome powers (i.e. advanced weaponry), he refuses to provide them to the natives. The constraints here are not just practical, but moral:

—Don Rumata, do you remember how disappointed I was, when I found out who you are? I hate priests, and it galls me that their deceitful tales have turned out to be true. But a poor rebel must extract a benefit from any circumstance. The priests say that the gods wield bolts of lightning... Don Rumata, I am in great need of lightning bolts, to smash the walls of the castles.
Rumata sighed deeply. After his miraculous helicopter rescue, Arata had insistently demanded answers. Rumata attempted to explain, he even pointed out Sol in the night sky—a distant, barely visible star. But the rebel understood only one thing: the cursed priests are right, beyond the heavenly firmanent indeed live gods, benevolent and all-powerful. And from then on every conversation with Rumata he reduced to one thing: god, since you do exist, give me your power, as that is the best that you can do.
And each time Rumata kept silent, or shifted the conversation to another topic.

—Don Rumata,—said the rebel,—why do you not want to help us?
… —Let’s not speak of this. —No, we will speak of it. I didn’t call you here. I never prayed to anyone. You came to me on your own. Or did you merely wish to amuse yourself?
It’s hard to be a god, thought Rumata. He said patiently: —You won’t understand. I’ve tried twenty times to explain to you that I am not a god; still you don’t believe me. And you will not understand why I can’t help you with weapons... —You have lightning bolts? —I can’t give you lightning. —I have heard this twenty times already,—said Arata.—Now I want to know: why? —I say again: you won’t understand. —Try. —What will you do with lightning bolts? —I will incinerate the gilded scum, like bugs, every one of them, their entire cursed bloodlines to the twelfth scion. I will wipe their castles from the face of the earth. I will burn their armies and all those who defend and support them. You need not worry—your lightning bolts will serve only good, and when there remain on earth only liberated slaves and peace reigns, I will return your lightning to you and will never ask for it again.
Arata fell silent, breathing heavily. His face had darkened from a rush of blood. Likely he was already seeing the duchies and kingdoms in flames, and piles of scorched bodies among the ruins, and huge armies of the victors, feverishly howling: "Freedom! Freedom!" —No,—said Rumata.—I will not give you lightning. That would be a mistake. Try to believe me, I see further than you do... (Arata listened, his head dropped to his chest.)—Rumata clenched his fingers.—I will give you only one argument. It is nothing compared to the main one, but at least you will understand it. You are a survivor, dear Arata, but you are also mortal; and if you perish, if the lightning bolts pass into other hands, ones not so clean as yours, then I fear even to think how it may end...
…
Arata fell silent and again reached for the bread. Rumata looked at the other’s fingers, devoid of nails. His fingernails had been torn out, with a special device for that purpose, two years ago, by Don Reba personally. You don’t yet know, thought Rumata. You still console yourself with the thought that only you yourself are destined for defeat. You don’t yet know how hopeless are your efforts. You don’t yet know that the enemy is not so much around your soldiers, as within them. You might, perhaps, topple the Order, and a wave of peasant revolts will carry you onto the throne of Arkanar; you will raze the nobles' castles, drown the barons in the Strait, and the rebellious people will grant you every honor as a great liberator, and you will be kind and wise—the only kind and wise person in your kingdom. And in your kindness you will start giving out lands to your comrades, and what use are lands to them without serfs? And the wheel will begin to turn the other way. And it will be a good thing if you manage to die in your own time, and do not live to see the rise of new dukes and barons from the ranks of your former loyal fighters. So it has already happened, my dear Arata, on Earth and on your own planet.