Eliot was not the first person in the cabin. When he arrived, someone was already there. He rarely speaks about them. When pressed, he says only that they were kind, and patient, and that eventually the nothing filled in and they had the chance to leave. They left. He stayed.
Why he stayed is the question the cabin keeps circling around. Not as a test — as a fact. Eliot chose this. The warm prison over the painful freedom. The one room where the strings are invisible because there's no one to pull them except one person, and that person doesn't require pulling.
This is not a tragedy. It is not a triumph. It is just what Eliot chose. And whether it was peace or surrender is a question even he doesn't answer, because the distinction might not matter as much as you'd think.