I once saw George Carlin begin a set with an abortion bit so inflammatory that several people walked out. He framed the issue as one between those who believe a fetus is a baby and those who don’t, then staked out his position. “I believe it’s a baby, and we should kill it,” Carlin said, give or take a profanity.

Louis C.K. starts his extremely funny new Netflix special, “2017,” laying out the same premise and a very similar conclusion. But these are radically different jokes telegraphing entirely different perspectives.

Carlin, who made a career out of taking provocative positions meant to offend and did material about abortion on television specials but never included that particular line, leaned on a specific, strident voice making a taboo claim that almost invited some people to leave.

While equally drawn to hot-button subjects, Louis C.K. is a less polemical comic, and his dense, formally clever bit doesn’t argue for or against abortion as much as it mocks the parameters of the debate surrounding it. His joke quickly shifts points of view, undercutting his own take again and again. “I think you should not get an abortion,” he says, pausing. “Unless you need one.” Another pause. “In which case, you better get one.”

Seconds later, he mounts a defense of anti-abortion activists who picket clinics. “They think babies are being murdered!” he says, adding in a sarcastic hipster voice: “What are they supposed to be like? ‘It’s not cool.’”

At various points, Louis C.K. intentionally contradicts himself, jumping from one extreme to another. It’s risky to start a special talking about abortion, but he has long been a stand-up Houdini who delights in tying himself up in ugly or polarizing claims before using his quick wits to escape offense nimbly. Carlin was a model of intellectual clarity. Louis C.K. has clearly been influenced by him but is just as happy with ambiguity or confusion. Despite what he says at the start of the show, he is less interested in telling us what he thinks about abortion than in dramatizing confusion and anxiety about it.

“2017” is not his most original special, covering much familiar territory, including more wonderful jokes about the toil of parenting. And he does not mention the politician dominating discussion this year, though he does seem to make an allusion to President Donald Trump when he mentions people from the future looking back on today from a devastated, rubble-strewn landscape.

It’s notable that although many heavy-hitting political comics have put out TV specials in the past few months (Jerrod Carmichael, Dave Chappelle), as well as Chris Rock on tour, no one has really gone all in on the president. Then again, since material for a stand-up special can take years to put together, this may be a bit early.

This makes “2017” a snapshot not so much of our time but of Louis C.K. in his prime, a tight hour and 15 minutes revealing a dizzying number of ways to get a belly laugh: misdirection, juxtaposition, silly voices, act-outs, rambling personal stories, sex jokes.

He covers the big (religion, politics, love) and the small (a great joke about soup), the mind-bendingly philosophical as well as a description of the start of an erection. This is a complete bag of tricks, a veteran showing off his range.

Trading in his usual black shirt and jeans for a suit and loose tie, Louis C.K. isn’t dressed like a guy hanging out at a comedy club anymore. He looks like a professional at work. Much of this material is similar to the show he did at Madison Square Garden last year, but with the camera on him, his performance is quieter, more intimate. The best special effect of the night is the close-up of his increasingly reddening face, which becomes the color of a stop sign by the end of the show.

Louis C.K. does have his hallmarks: He continues to find comedy in imagining the world from a surprising, often alien perspective. In a bit about parenting, he describes being enraged by a football player who said he knew that his mother was watching his game from heaven. “Leave your mother alone,” Louis C.K. says, imagining her in heaven turning down a party with angels because she has to look down on her son. “Even after they’re dead, you have to go to their games.”

He also remains masterly at finding laughs on the way to the punch line. Some of this comes from a goofy voice or a wry look. At other times, it’s built into the absurdity of the premise.

His pessimism is intact, describing all relationships as doomed to sour and all life as a prelude to suicide. But it’s leavened by a sense of joy. “Love is the best,” he says, before adding seconds later, “but don’t be greedy and expect it to last.”

Louis C.K. can be a sad sack, but he’s not a grump. He doesn’t engage in the old ornery generational comedy of the middle-aged comic. He’s not exhausted by the changing world so much as baffled and in awe of it. Whereas Chappelle laments having to change his “pronoun game” in talking about transgender people, Louis C.K. says he’s jealous of them. “They’ve figured it out,” he says, suggesting that he is still uncertain about his sexuality. “I’m 49 years old,” he says, “and I still haven’t found a cruising altitude for my identity.”